
Class _J^S. - 5 \^^ 

Book __MAil^JJ_ 
Goip^htN^ 11^1 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



ORPHEUS TODAY 

, SAINT FRANCIS OF THE TREES 
AND OTHER VERSE 



BY 

WILLIAM NORMAN GUTHRIE 



THE WESTERN LITERARY PRESS 

CINCINNATI 
1907 



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Two Oooles Recslved 

J^N 17 I90r 



I /.CepyrlBrtil Efltry . 



I CLASS /^'xXciNo. 
L__CO^^YB. 



Copyright, 1906. 
By William Norman Guthrie. 



" To the Muse 
her own " 



"And yet, the best is never seen, — or said' 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



OKPHEUS 
Page 

Orpheus Today 11 

The Soul's Wizadries 17 

Day Dreams 19 

To a Latterday Prophet 21 

Ode in Sapphics 25 

■ Don Juan 26 

Identity 26 

One Sleep 28 

The Echoes: 

1. The Dream Bird... 28 

2. Early Spring 29 

3. The Mate.. 30 

4. The Death-Song 31 

Dream and "Waking: 

Sunset Prelude 32 

1. An Old Nest 32 

2. A Mocking-Bird 33 

3. The Old Ideal 33 

4. The Bride Asleep • . 34 

5. Evocation 34 



TODAY 

Page 

6. Apparition and Exorcism 35 

7. The Bride Awake 36 

The Hawk: 

1. Sunrise Prelude 37 

2. The Pigeon .. 37 

3. The Lark 37 

4. The Hawk 38 

5. The Paean 38 

6. The Voiceless Triumph.. 39 

Higher Mathematics 39 

Wishes 39 

A Father's Memory 40 

Selfish Grief fl 

Adrift •■ 41 

The Twin Poplar ■ ■ ■ 42 

Parental Consent 45 

The Widower 47 

The Beeches of Fern Bank: 

1. Fellowship 47 

2. Farewell 48 



THE DEWDROPS 
(A Phantasy in Two Tableaux- and Thirteen Scenes) 



Synopsis 

Tableau I. The Death of the 
Dewdrops: 

1. The Enchantment 53 

2. The Moon 54 

3. The Fireflies..... 56 

4. The Spider 57 

5. The Trees 60 

6. The Wind of Death 62 

7. The Droplets 64 



52 



Tableau II. The Doom of the 
Dew: 

8. The Moon Set 66 

9. The Treetoad 68 

10. The Dawn 71 

11. The Ruby-Throat 73 

12. The Requiem 76 

13. The Fairy Queen's Af- 

terword 77 



SEWANEE LYEICS, xVND KINDRED VERSE 



The Rejected Lover to the 

Moon 79 

"Hashish": 

1. The Choice 80 

2. The Trance 80 

3. The Waking 82 

A February Day in Tennessee 83 

A Respite 84 

In Vain - - 85 

Cherry Bloom 86 

Nox Mystica 87 

The Soul's Sanctuary 88 

Under the Stars 89 

Love in Heaven*. 9L 

Song and Gountersong: 

1. Song .; 92 

2. Gountersong 92 

Sympathetic Music 93 

Dirge 94 

Galled from the Sheep-Cotes. 95 

Palmstry 95 

Nocturne 96 



Twin Dewdrops 96 

Frost-Work 97 

After Tears 98 

A Sewanee Idyl 99 

Repartee in the Park 100 

Five Songs from "Sigurd": 

1. Sigurd's Pledge 101 

2. Grunhild's Enchantment 

of Sigurd 101 

3. The Spell Song 102 

4. The Baldur Dirge 103 

5. Gudrmi's Blood-Wite 103 

A Rime of the Wicked Birds 

in June 104 

Molly, May, and Dolly up the 

Glen 109 

High in the Colorado Rockies: 

1. The Mountain Park 118 

2. The Cabin 118 

3. Scherzo ' 123 

4. By the Brook 124 

• 5. The Curtain Falls 125 

6. "So LongL" 126 

Impromptu 126 



THE BOOK OF SYMBOLIC ODES 



Foreword 127 

(Ethical Apology) 
The Lion 128 

(Individuality) 
The Old Hemlock 132 

(The Self and Afterlife) 
The Rime of the Tarn 136 

(Cheer of Soul) 
The Defiled Mountain Torrent 147 

(Indignation Overcome) 
The Mule 159 

(The Social Hope) 



Mt. PeleS in Eruption 161 

^Despair Divine) 

Pike's Peak: 

(Man and the Universe) 

1. The Mountain 165 

2. The Meaning 169 

3. The Man 174 

The Beech in Winter 179 

(The Soul and God) 

Afterword 185 

(Esthetic Apology) 



LIFE AND LOVE 



PART I. LOVE'S DAWN 



I. Love and Friendship: 

1. Love, the Self-Revelator 187 

2. Divine Discontent 188 

3. Love's Altruism 188 

4. Love, the Friend 189 

5. Sundered Friends 189 

II. Love's Prelude: 

1. "Wolfenbiittel 190 

2. Young Icarus 190 

3. As in Picturebookland. . 191 

4. The First Funeral 191 

5. Roadside Theophany 192 

fi. Mystic Kinship 192 

7. Toward Fiesole 193 

8. San Giovanni 193 

9. Growing Apart 194 

10. Bocca d' Arno 194 

11. First Manhood 195 

12. Primeval Man 195 

13. Parental Jealousy 196 

14. The Soul's Eden 196 

15. Flower-Talismans 197 

16. Altenbaumburg (The 

Lilies) 197 

17. Altenbaumburg (The 

Comforter) 198 

18. Foretaste and Aftertaste 198 

19. Miinster am Stein 199 

20. Prophet or Poet? 199 

21. A Hadley Holiday 200 

22. Fever Hallucination.... 200 



23. The Peak of Vision 201 

24. Convalescence 201 

25. Again the Trojan Boy.. 202 

26. First Disillusion 202 

27. Materialism 203 

28. The Saving Faith 203 

29. Near and Far 204 

30. Far and Near 204 

31. Luminous Hours 205 

32. The Liveoaks in March. 205 

33. Unearned Returns 206 

34. The Parable of the Dew 206 

35. The Judgment 207 

36. Evidence of Sanity 207 

37. Not Yet 208 

38. Presence 208 

38a. No Cross, No Crown.. 209 

39. Autumn Sadness 209 

40. True Youth 210 

41. Sweet Maiden Constancy 210 

42. Innocence Human 211 

43. Innocence Divine 211 

44. First Sight 212 

45. Heart's Perversity 212 

III. The Passing of Eros and 

Aphrodite: 

46. Love's Sorrow-Trance.. 213 

47. Love's Awakening 213 

48. Love's Soothsay of Doom 214 

49. The Tidal Wave 214 

50. Casting the Horoscope. 215 



PART II. LOVE'S SUNRISE 



The Wooing o' It: 

1. Speechless Proposal.... 216 

2. Love's Humility 217 

3. Paradise Gained 217 

4. Paradise Lost 218 

5. Sudden Spring 218 

6. Orchard Optimism 219 

7. Love's Compass 219 

8. Body's Absence 220 

9. Fancy or Fact 220 



10. Individual Insufficiency... 221 

11. Mutual Sufficiency 221 

12. Perspectives 222 

13. Wild-Goose Creek 222 

14. Knowledge of God 223 

15. True Love 223 

16. Self-Surrender 224 

17. Unshed Tears 224 

18. Love's Immortality 225 

19. Environment 225 



20. Bridal Dream 226 

21. The Mother 226 

22. Love's Melody 227 



23. Love's Harmony 227 

24. Incarnation 228 

25. Love's Silence 228 



A VISION OF NEW HELLAS 



To the Muse 229 

The Foresong 230 

A Song of Songs: 

Demeter Appeareth 233 

Dionysos Cometh 239 

Hymn to Dionysos, the Ele- 
mental 243 

The Colloquy 246 

Hymn to Dionysos, the Hero- 
God 248 



The Transfiguration 254 

Hymn to Aphrodite 258 

The Reconciliation 262 

The Hymn to Apollo 265 

Rival's Divine 270 

Votive Gifts 273 

Hymns Hymenedl 275 

Interlude 279 

The Banquet of the Gods. . . 280 

The Aftersong 284 



TKANSLATIONS FEOM LEOPARDI AND GOETHE 

La Ginestra (Leopardi) 289 

Odes and Didactic Verse (Goethe): 

Nature and Art (Natur und Kunst) 297 

Balance (from the Metamorphose der Thiere) 298 

A Human Feeling (Menschengefiihl) 298 

Even So (Ein Gleiches) 299 

The Wayfarer (Der Wanderer) 299 

Chant of the Spirits over the Waters (Gesang der Geister ueber 

den Wassem) 304 

Human Limitations (Die Grenzen der Menschheit) 305 

The Divine (Das Gottliche) 307 

My Goddess (Meine Gottin) 309 

The One and the All (Eins und Alle) 311 

My Legacy (Vermachtniss) 312 

Orcular Words in Orphic Manner (Urworte, Orphisch) 313 



ST. FRANCIS OF THE TREES 317 



ORPHEUS TODAY 



SOME PRINT ERRORS. 



Page 45, line 26, for sunder read asunder. 

■' 135) " 37> for Aoat read afloat. 

" 149. " 35, for throng motley read motley throng. 

•' 153. •• 8, for Thou even, read Thou, even. 

•' 187, " II. for of disaccord; and Thou read of discord, 

and, Thou. 

" 188. " I, for For, contest read For, earnest. 

" 194, " 7, for will be read will he. 

" 205, " 19, omit comma. 

" 2f.3. " 26, insert of before fury. 

" 253- " 15' f*^r Silenos's read Silenos'. 

'■ 266. ■■ 31, for Zeus' s read Zeus'. 

" 313. " 19' f*^'" ^^fl"' '■6'i<^ ^'^"'- 



ORPHEUS TODAY 

I. 

O Orpheus, help! Too long, 

alas, hast thou been hence. 
Come, O come, and forthwith, 

irradiant child-like myth 

of the Golden Age, 

with the hallow'd influence 

over spirit and sense 

of oracular Song! 
Thee every generation 

hath closer drawn to the needs 

of tlie soul; Who canst assuage 

Man's grief at the world-old ill, — 

and the inhuman curse 

of reasonless wont, and distrust 

of self — with the gleeful lay of deeds 

heroic, that comfort and thrill: 

Who, with glad-eyed vaticination 

of faith, the strange evils our hearts presage 

canst dissipate, and disperse. 
Return, return unto us 

with Ijn-e immortal, and voice clear-ringing 

of life-love and praise, 

h5mining all gods of the light; and cast 

the spell victorious 

of thy mystical singing 

at last 

over these latter days. 

II. 
Hither 
from fields Elysian 
where droop and wither 

II 



no blossoms of fancy or gladsome whim, 

where doubt and sorrow no eyes bedim, — 
hasten. Helper, and Freer 

with the gaze of the Seer — 

that deep interior vision, 

wotting the heart-sure manifold 

Truth of all things that be: — 
How thick we do press and crowd 

(wedged elbow in elbow, and knee against knee,) 

a tangle rank, clamped, twisted, and braced, 

humped, crooked, and bowed! 
How, greedily thrust, do our tap-roots pierce 

to the core of the parcht stone-waste! 
How our branches stretch greedily fierce 

in a jealous horror enlaced, — 

fellow with fellow agrapple for the throttling hold 

that shall snakewise each-other enfold! 
O Orpheus, haste, for we choke at length 

(galled and knotted and gnurled, 

belichened, dry-rotten,) 

our stature misshapen and sapped our strength — 
Hear, hear, as we pray and plead, 

(all piteous shame of our plight forgotterl,) 
We men of a dying world, — 

O Orpheus, Orpheus — hear us, and heed! 

III. 

For lo, thro' yon thickets dense, 

impassable to the children of Zeus, 

where never glad ray of the holy Sun, 
thy Father assaileth the shadows dim, 

or winds of heaven forth-drive 

from fetid haunts of monstrous use, 

pollution and pestilence; 
What Beasts of the midnight foul, 

only with thirst of blood alive, 

stalk after their prey and prowl, — 

ghostlike efface them, — roar and hoWl> 

or crouch asnarl and askulk — 



or cower for the sudden death-spring 

with claws and fangs and the down-crashing bulk! 
O Orpheus, who hearest our cry 

behold with thy sunny eye 

the dens obscene where lair and whelp 

these devils of lust, in the womb 

of the shuddering gloom. 
Deliverance and comfort bring, 

Orpheus, O Orpheus, help. 

IV. 

Heard hath the Singer 

as in the olden time, 

yea, in the golden time, 

our joyous Wisdom-bringer; 
and fulfilled is already the earth 

with subtle far echoings 

of the spirit-song jocund He sings. 
And everywhere lo, how men 

go forth as gods, with hearts 

of gods in their bosoms, and laughter 

of gods again 

in their eyes, — 

sane, happy and wise! 
For gone of whatever departs 

is the baneful regret; 

the sickly hope of a bliss hereafter 

that crieth forever: "Not yet"; 

of futile things, which cumber and irk, 

the anguish vain and the fret; 

free of the mire, of the mirk, 

of the reek, that hinder and let; 
Above the Olympian outlook wide — 

sea, scarp, and hill and vale; 

above the Caucasus icy-vast 

of tortured Promethean pride. 
For lo, 

in the spirit they come and they go, 

in the selfsame spirit of thy Song: — 

13 



No nigh, no far, — no future, no past — 
no foul, no fair — no right, no wrong- 
for such as they! All hail! 



Singer divine. 

First-born of the Muse, thou knewest our sorrow, — 

or whence could it poignancy borrow 

that Song immortal of thine? 
Ah, She who the meaning showed 

of life beyond greed, beyond lust; 
in whose mystical eyes the prophecy glowed, 

of the holier rebirth 

forever of thee and of her, to a worth 

thou knewest in Her not, or thee: — 
(the thing ye would 

in the thing ye must — 

in the evil, the good — 

and the soul, in the dust;) 
Who translated brutish content 

to human unrest; to delight 

in the fiat creative; to beauty, and heavenly right; — 
Eurydice, Eurydice, She 

Mother of the spirit in thee, and Child 

likewise of thy singing — She went 

(her treasures of love unspent,) 

to Hades unreconciled. 
Yea, She bade thee the last farewell 

of the death-cold hand 

and stark — 

of dumb lips and sightless lids that tell 

the uttermost word, unutterable 

speech of our longing. But Thou didst withstand 

undaunted the King of terrors dark. 
And manful, and godlike, to lovely life 

sangest her back from care and cark — 

beloved Tylother and Child and Wife. 
Then, haste alas, overeager as man to possess 

what singer alone and seer can bless 

14 



the earth with, and sun, — did lose thee at last 
(one minute more thou hadst held Her fast!) 

the comforting human tones, 
and the rapture-giving touch, 
for which the bereaved heart groans — 
so little, yet ah, so much, so much! 

Wherefore, O thou 

Orpheus who knowest our woe, 
the peace of Elysium forego. 

On us have pity, even now, 
and thy pity deign to show. 
Son of Apollo, help! 

VI. 

For again is Eurydice dead, 

the most dear, and fair, and good; 

and our spirit to hers was wed, 

the holy vows were said, 
Yea, the child of her maidenhood 

Godbegotten, she bare unborn, in her heart! 
With what spell of prayer — Ah, what art 

magical, chaunt or dance 

compulsive, shall death be withstood 

of Us children of chance, 

bewildered and faint for despair? 

Have pity, have pity! 
Our spirit disbelieveth. O spare, 

spare us the bitter self-scorn 

that assaulteth us here forlorn. 

Have pity, have pity! 
To the eyes Her love did illumine, 

to the heart that vainly yearneth, 

the lust of the brute prehuman 

returneth, returneth. 

Have pity, have pity, have pity! 
The greed of the jungle doth grip 

the soil below the man 

in craft and wont; and our fellowship 

is: "Slay to live, who can!" 

15 



Have pity, have pity! 
The heart of the desert noon 

is upon us, from tree-top to root; 
our manhood doth perish; — we swoon 
to the cringe and the leer of the brute. 
Have pity, have pity, have pity! 
O Orpheus, Son of Apollo, help! 

VII. 

Singer, gentle, the Bacchants of yore 

did shout and yell and blaspheme. 

They fell upon thee and rent and tore, 

and, bleeding, cast thee down the fated stream. 
But thy blood was lost not; it ran 

into the veins of Man, 

and thy flesh is our flesh evermore! 
Arise, oh, arise from the dead, 

and take that is thine for thine own: 

our blood thy blood, who hast bled; 

our flesh thy flesh alone. 
Come and possess us, possess us; 

and the youth we have lost, alack, 

the hope, the love, the dream — to bless us — 

sing us Eurydice back! 
Yea, yea — 

and the Forest of twofold greed 

doth awake; and the boughs of us tremble 
and sway, — 

and our ancient trunks straighten them, lithe 

once more and freed, — 

to the wind of thy melody brave. 

Footloose we move in a ring 

to thy jubilant rhythm, and blithe 

leap we, and bow, and wave, 

and whirl us unwearying. 
And the Beasts of the loathly night 

do stand up manful, at last, full height; 

and their evil glare about 

of innumerous eyes, to a shine 

i6 



superhuman blend: 

the Eternal encircling the True 

without a beginning or end. 
Ha, hearken, we raise the shout: — 

"We are wholly, O Orpheus, thine! 
Thou, Thou hast sung us footloose 

from vile crafts and necessities base; 

talons to hands for sacred use, 

and snout deformed to the Kingly face. 
O Orpheus, gracious myth divine, 

now even now 

up the mountain's gradual slopes 

Thou hast sung us free, and gentle, and pure; 

Thou hast sung us to natural faiths and hopes; 

Thou hast sung us to godly loves secure; 

Thou hast done it. Thou alone, Thou! 
Thou hast sung us back the lost ideal. 

Thou hast sung Eurydice back to life. 

Thou hast sung the mystical hymeneal 

of maiden Mother and Child and Wife. 
Hearken our vow, 

O Orpheus, Singer 

and Seer, 

Cheer-bringer, 

and Freer, 
We are thine, we are thine forever now!" 



THE SOUL'S WIZARDRIES 

Natural magic! 

Lo, ooze and slime of the marsh 

sunsmit to glory? 
So, likewise the slayer's cell 
(in a world hopeless and harsh 
what miracle!) 
lifted by mystic blisses 
of penance far above abysses 
of lurid hell, 

17 



a cloud-pure promontory — 

the mighty hand and the outstretched arm! 
So, the harlot's bed, and lewd love-token 

(Mark how it wins — the spell, 

the serene charm 

faithfully spoken!) 

thro' a divine devotion 

hallowing death, 

become — (who shall believe it?) 
white moonrise over sleeping ocean, — 

or, if thou canst conceive it: — 
a close-veiled holy of holies, 

whereat the haloed saint his orison saith 

awe-humbled, under breath. 

Magic, white magic! 

Our brutish strife and crime 

offering this gross-gorged time 

soul's bread of anguish tragic, 

for spirit to taste 

gracious and chaste! 
Shames now, and doltish follies; — thereafter 

transmuted to a bubbling draught of laughter! 
The craven fears 

ignoble of man, 

waxen, at touch of Pan, 

terrific; the craft of the thrall and malice 

throneth aloft sublime 

a hate Satanic. 
The hideous doth upbulk to a threat Titanic, 

and the loathly dwarfeth to the grim 

grotesque and odd; — 
distilled, as fire-drop in the reeking chalice 

that changeth to opaline wine the blood, 
till the eyes of love with marvel dim, 

for heavenly gladness swim! 

Ha, ever the wraith 
of the bygone faith 
haunteth the mart 

i8 



of the commonplace. 
O child, then, of the highest God, 

take heart, take heart 

of grace. 
Thou too wert begotten and born 

Olympian. Lift thine head. 
Nevermore weak, forlorn, 

down-drooping to the dead, 

earth's outcast, shalt thou pant! 

For, presently Jove nods 

assent to thine unbreathed petition. 
Thine the omnipotent fiat of gods, 

and all thy dross already gold, pure gold! 

See, see! 

(What holy gladness, — 
wisdom, not madness!) 
Thou too mayest be 
high hierophant 
divine magician! 



DAY DREAMS 



A forest there is. Dreams are its trees 

where branches lock with leafage dense, 
to screen in gloom trunks grey or dusk, 

and a lavish floor of green intense. 
And over the roof that shelters these 

quick sunbeams foot a reckless reel, 
stamping in golden glee, to crack 

their floor if possible, and feel 
the cool of the green gloom under (see!) 

in which swim birds of curious hues 
(as in some river fishes dart) 

but entrance ever the leaves refuse. 
A forest of dreams, all dreanned by me, 

familiar, strange, and dear, most dear, 
with v/onders old I know by heart 

and wonders new too fair to fear! 

19 



Oft do I wander through its shades 

alone, or hand in hand with One 
whose name I never sought to know, 

because I fancy she hath none. 
Look! how the forest knee-high wades 

in hope's fresh sea of shrubbery! 
She, laughing ever, as we go — 

her laughter's notes mount merrily 
their sprightly scale, till from each tree 

some bird-voice whirls the laughter higher! 
Then throbs the forest: peal on peal 

of thunder muiscal. How tire 
of such a senseless jubilee? 

For every tree-top hides a nest 
by two wed wishes built, to seal 

with a new better love their best. 
Vv^ild wishes build them nests, I say, 

in boughs of my dream-trees, and burst — 
whenever she (my nameless One) 

chances to laugh, in song. Well-versed 
in all the tricks a syren may 

practice, bewildering whoso hears, 
my Witch (whom never saw the sun, 

born of the dim cool) slyly peers 
with eyes (their color can I tell, 

that dartle all?) into each thick 
of undergrowth for certain flowers, 

which, nnding, she stoops her down to pick. 
Then falls upon her from the air 

a frolic band of sunbeams sly — 
her hair — sent by the merry sim 

forbidden forest-shades to spy! 
Why doth she pick them, do you ask? 

For me, of course. All which I take 
back with me to the world without, 

when for a brief space I forsake 
my forest of dreams; — and we, we both, 

She and I, we wonder why they bloom — 
those flowers like her own lips' sweet pout — 

if to be plucked their hapless doom! 



O forest dear! O forest old— 

my own, none other's! O dear trees 
that are not trees, — dear songster birds 

that are not birds,— O sweetest, these 
flowers, not flowers — but joys foretold 

plucked by that One who hath no name,- 
let me be silent, lest my words 

give you perchance a fatal fame; 
lest greedy men, who hear my tale, 

with brutal axe fare forth by stealth 
and fell my forest, trunk by trunk — 

timber to get them vulgar wealth! 
Mad call they me? Dear Soul, all hail 

their mocks and sneers at our romance 
for so our treasure is safely sunk 

in the river of men's ignorance! 



TO A LATTERDAY PROPHET 

("WHO CAME LATE, AND WENT FORTH TOO SOON) 

He came to us with soul on fire, 

he came to us from the East with light: 

we heard, we saw; and God drew nigher, 
and wrong was wrong, and right was right. 

He went forth from among us then. 

All soon would be as ere he came; 
for men, we murmured, are but men, 

and the world's ways for aye the same! 

Ah, who that clomb the heights serene 

in sleep, can after quite forego 
the vision? gainsay, that once hath seen, 

its glory; and the known unknow? 

For His sake life hath holier worth, 
our faith made sure — whate'er we are — 

that still our man-corrupted Earth 
shines in God's firmament — a star! 



OUR MOTHER OF LIFE 

What other heaven than this should heart desire 

in azure nudity, or cloudy flow 

defining godlike dreams invisible else? 

What other star than ours, of shiny seas, 

of continents in waves of green spring-clad, 

with chains of diamond ice-peaks loosely decked 

gathered to flashing heaps at either pole? 

While here we lie. Love, under laughing trees, 

can we not feel the sway of happy earth 

as on she flies enhaloed of her day, 

and followed by her train of soft-starred night? 

O foolish perverts from the natural faith, 
insane, awake! Ye deemed it wise to sow 
in fields of mist, sun-golden at the dawn, 
the seeds of hope? Ye wailed when ye beheld 
only at sunset on the verge of night 
wave a far crop of faiths illusively 
which death might harvest, but no living man? 
So in your bitterness of heart ye cried: 
"Blessed are they that live not, for they reap 
with death wide fields of bliss"? Arise! 
arise, ye perverts, if ye have ears to hear. 
Wait for no general resurrection. Throng 
from self-dug graves of sorrow, and behold 
The symbol: Life a crowing Babe in arms 
of tender Mother Death, whose proud fond eyes 
remember and foresee — whose bosom swells 
with rich provision for the hungry mouth! 
A little sleep, and in the Babe we crow — 
a little sleep, and in the Mother smile; 
and between sleep and sleep — a lover's kiss! 

What other life? What other love? What truth 
truer than this — that Spring hath bloom and song? 
And Summer holy heat, and flutter of wings? 
And Autumn ripe fruit — heavy, luscious, red — 



and flights through sky into the warm unknown? 
And Winter white dreams of a whiter Spring? 

Ah, they, that love as we, are never alone! 

Even here, as smile lights smile for intimate joy 

that we are denizens of this living earth, 

behold, our Holy Mother immaculate 

draweth near softly — smileth on us both. 

Thou seest not her face? The shadow vague 

of the glad trees about us — 't is the drift 

of ample robes over the twinkling grass 

for vital bliss ashiver — knowing her. 

She walketh viewless through the shining day, 

she seeketh them who seek her not — her breath 

is on thy happy hair! Her large deep eyes 

give thine a haze of rapture that they seem, 

tho' fixed on me, to look. Love, far away 

into the heart of heavenly delights! 

Thou seest her now? That rapturous thrill of fear — 

it is thy soul aware of her spread arms 

fain to envelop us with yearning love. 

We yearn not, for we have. 

O Mother, soon, 
scon shall we come to thee, who were of thee, 
who bless thee filially, though now we strive 
against thee, lest thou fold us to thy heart 
ere yet we have done with play. But sweet it is 
to know what breast shall pillow us in sleep 
when tired at last. 

See, see! Life's God is nigh, — 
thy Son of laughter and heroic toils. 
Him we acknowledge in thy holy stead, 
not holier, but dearer unto us, 
and dear to thee, thy very Son, thy self, 
to whom thou gavest us, to be his own! 
O thou wilt punish not who hold by him, 
loyally his, not thine; with fervent soul 
worshiping him, crying the jubilant cry 

23 



before his coming, dumb at thy approach — 
for thou art he! 

Look, Love, behold him come! 
The locust trees are dancing in vast winds 
of joy, dropping bloomsnows from clusters pure 
over the frolic grass about us. There, 
the lilac bushes catch the breeze, and leap, 
wave with green arms their spires of blossoms pale 
like maddened bacchants full of sunny wine, 
shaking the cruel thyrsis for the God! 
Birds burst together into reckless song 
till the air throbs with obstinate wild notes 
of ecstasy; the blue of heaven pours in 
as the trees overhead lift high their boughs 
and meet atop applauding frantically. 
Close, close! The whole world thrills with the 
coming kiss. 

Not peace — war, war! Only the victors live 
and bloom and sing! 

The vanquished, — where are they? 
Ah, from the Mother's eyes they beam their love, 
on us the Victory of their battles lost, 
Crest of their wave, — the spray, the flare of hues ! 

O kiss. Love, let us kiss and kiss again, 

so shall the God of Life be visible 

to eyes of rapturous faith — for he is Love. 

And Mother Death that instant shall rejoice — 

for she is Love, as he, her Son, is Love. 

What Mother must not laugh when crows her Babe! 



24 



ODE IN SAPPHICS 

(Sung at the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Cincinnati Literary Club) 

Sing the good Old Days that are gone forever, 
rich in friendship, love; and for sturdy virtue, 
honest purpose, faith, and heroic action, 
sweet to remember. 

Half a hundred years of success and failure: 
earth and sky and sea are the same, and little 
change the ways of men; the beholder only 
ages and passes. 

Wherefore mourn, sweet friends, or despond or marvel? 
Still the New Days come — for the Maker liveth — 
young and fresh and bold, and the cry is ever 
upward and onward! 

Past and future meet in the vital present; 
thankfulness and trust in a pure emotion, 
making wise the young, and the old courageous, 
singing together: — 

Sweet the good Old Days to recall and cherish; 
sweet the good New Days to forecast and welcome; 
sweet the tried, the known; and the fresh surprises 
sweetly delightful! 

Yea, for pain and grief to the brave and noble 
yield a pure joy, yield a reward of virtue: 
faith in life, death, God, and in man, our brother, 
ever, forever! 



25 



DON JUAN 

Ten hundred lives I live, 
why then should this life chain me? 
When scores of hearts men take and give, 
wherefore should this heart pain me? 

A myriad snaring eyes, 
white breasts, rare maiden graces? 
Things to be wooed and won! With lies?- 
Nay, She all else effaces. 

One still, tho' manifold? 
True, true. Her heart I singled? 
Love's sun rode high in skies of gold — 
then, waves and clouds commingled. 

Grope, press thro* the soul's thick gloom 
to reach that fiend? Entangle 
the traitor self? Make fast his doom? 
Clutch, crunch, and grind and strangle? 

God, who hath wronged her? I? 
Slay thou that man, the doer! 
Shall for the dead the living die? 
Long dead is he — her wooer! 



IDENTITY 



soul-mutation! When are we one thing? 
Do you know. Love, even now, as I looked up 
from this grim book of far-off times, you seemed 
a stranger; and suddenly upon a stage 

of half-real vision, I beheld this scene 
enacted in the quiet of our home. 

A man who bore strong likeness to myself 
so that to me he seemed me, sat and read 
intently; and near him leaned a lady, fair — 

1 cannot tell how fair and dear she seemed — 

26 



as you to me . . . and, verily she was you. 

She came to him, saying he was estranged, 

not loverHke. Angrily he looked up, . . . 

bewildered rather. "And, tell me who art thou?" 

he asked. "I know there has not been in me a change. 

I ever was as now I am." And you seemed smit 

with a fell fear of something undefined. 

A keen long look, — half scorn, half plea — you sent. 

Abashed at my harsh words (which yet seemed true) 

to one so beautiful, I added "Nay, 

I dreamed perhaps, fair lady, of a brow 

with dark hair circled so; but how could I 

to a dream-creature vow away the love 

of the waking man, the dreamer never knew?" 

And you at me looked steadily, nor winced. 

Then flashed a recognition. — "Am I mad? 

This, this I had forgotten! It was you? 

And I? You for long years I wooed, and won, 

and kissed, and wedded? God, was I gone mad? 

It was a veritable thing, no dream, — 

that beautiful love? Ah, how to seize the soul 

and fetter it fast in manacles of faith? 

For hearken. Dear, even now I thought myself 

alone, purposeless, heavenless, — and with you 

close at my side! I am myself again . . . 

sweet friend and sweeter Love, I am myself; 

I am the lover dreamed of these long years, . . . 

ay, anything lest I be all alone, 

and those dear eyes that are God's eyes to me, 

fill with tears angrily. My Sweet, my Love, 

that a moment could have sundered so 
my spirit from thine, whose I must ever be! 

A whim of fancy was it? Yet, alas 
a parable of truth. I love thee now, 
yet, darling, what assurance can I give? 

1 cannot swear. I, uttering the words, 
am other than the framer of their thought. 
I am another than thy yesterday's, 

must woo again another soul afresh. ... 

27 



Yet love, Love, is the same (though we be changed) 
the bond that binds these many into one. 
O love — love! God, we cannot! Bind us fast, 
Thou who alone art truly ever thou! 



ONE SLEEP 



Tho' now each dreams his dream alone 
and the soul's beloved in hell may weep, 
while the lover laughs in a heaven of his own; 
there shall be (I have heard) at last — one sleep! 

"Till death us do part?" Who never here 
are one? Nay, rather, till death unite 
beyond all separate hope and fear, 
or both with dreamless torpor smite! 

Twain have we been and still are twain 
for all love's anguishful desire! 
Ah, welcome ages of infinite pain 
if thence we leap,— one flame of fire! 

For the mystery whispereth in my heart 
from holiest height, from lowliest deep: — 
"Heaven is — where thou forever art; 
one vision — awake . . . and one dream — asleep !" 



THE ECHOES 

I. 

THE DREAM BIRD 



In a dream, last night, I saw my heart 

from a leafless brier as a Bird upstart 

to fling him eagerly aloft, 

o'er rain-wet garth and steeming croft, 

o'er grim stone-fence and blackthorn hedge,- 

unlured of the free horizon-edge, — 

28 



up, up from damp and drizzle and thaw . . . 
as a Hill-lark — methought my heart I saw. 
And ever in fitful loops he flew, 
or mounted in spires to the quiet blue; 
outleaping the walls, the winds upbuild 
of toppling radiancies sun-thrilled; 
thro' golden dazzle, on, higher and higher 
to where bliss upholdeth the wings of desire. 
By the hush and solitude undeterred, 
poised on the vast, alone, wee Bird, 
quick atom of hope and faith and might, 
possessing the heaven in voiceless delight, 
what aileth thee, now? Art insecure 
Lord of the still, the sunny, the pure? 
Alas, as a fluttering flake of snow 
falls from a cloud to the valley below; 
falling, then striving to rise again, 
dreading pollution in footprints of men; 
falling and rising, yet surely bound 
for some low spot of the pitiless ground; 
so, fell my Soul — and unseen, unheard, 
hopeless and songless had vanished my Bird. 

II. 

EARLY SPRING 

Rain-swollen creeks invaded 
the low glades with pool and bog. 
Bare hickories and white oaks waded 
in stealthy drifts of fog. 

The ghostly drip and patter 

of the thaw; — else never a sound, 

save now and again the clatter 

of a dead branch dropping to ground. 

Lo, where my Dream-bird clinging 
to yon topmost beechen spray 
setteth the drear woods ringing 
with a passionate dismay! 

29 



What fellow and mate abideth 
in the dumb and cold unknown? 
to hear and heed when He chidetb 
and waileth and calleth alone? 

Yet if none be won of his wooing 
with warble and gurgle and trill, 
'tis the cry of a soul's undoing, — 
the rapture and ache that kill. 

III. 

THE MATE 

Why tarrieth she so late 

in sun-parched clime? 
Or would not my Dream-bird wait 

for the trysting-time? 

Doth She not hearken, and 'bide 

in the covert, and yearn — 
for pity, and throbbing pride, — 

till the note he learn 

of despair, that enraptureth 

and maketh her his? . . . 
for the life, begot in the death 

of the dream that is? 

Ay, She panteth in hope and fear 

lest he sing too late 
the song that slayeth to hear, 

and doth, slaying, create? 

Speak, speak — doth she hearken somewhere 

in the cheerless cold, 
for that shout of divine despair, 

of love unconsoled? 

Or, is there None at all 

in the woodland drear? — 
None, None his passionate call, 

his complaint to hear? 

30 



IV. 

THE DEATH -SONG 

Methought a hundred Echoes sang, 

as louder the song of my Dream-bird rang. 

They caught his catches, the tricksy elves — 

how should it tire their soulless selves? 

For the pang of his strain, not theirs to feel. 

Quaver, and trill, and jubilant peel, 

sob, and moan, and piteous cry — 

they followed and mocked, now far, now nigh. 

They seemed, as fainter his notes became 

to gather might for their merciless game. 

My Dream-bird paused in his song; and aghast 

he heard the echoes throb far and fast. 

He deemed them rivals for her he wooed, 

and rallied his strength in valiant mood. 

A burst of melody skyward floats — 

a glorious tempest of passionate notes. 

But in vain the agonizing strain — 

the shout, the call, and the sob in vain. 

For the Echoes singing and laughing go; 

they do not feel, they cannot know! 

They only follow, and mimick, and mock 

from hollow and height, from tree and rock. 

At last he is still. His spirit is spent. 

And the echoes jeeringly lament. 

But the cruel mockers die after him soon, 

and the drear woods ache in a death-cold swoon. 

In tears I awoke at the chill gray dawn. 

My heart, the Bird and the dream — were gone. 



31 



DREAM AND WAKING 

(A Bridal -Poem in Seven Lyrics and Prelude) 

SUNSET PRELUDE 

Emptied of wine the bowl of blinding blaze, 
wherewith the Day, that died as die proud days, 

Eve's dusk and starlight pledg'd; 
the daisy-suns have gather'd in their rays 

snow-luminous, rosy-edg'd. 

Eve held her mist-blue cup brimful of rest, 
gray sleep, and silver dreams, and wishes blest, 

to challenge His, aloft: — 
both cups clasht — shiver'd, inundating the West, 

with slumberous passion soft. 

Into the sea of Night, Day's wine hath poured, 
stain'd it a moment — then gloom-billows roar'd 

and foam'd and blacken'd all. 
O sea of Night, vague, vast and silent-shor'd, 

death-torpid thy billows fall! 

I. 

AN OLD NEST 

Frail boughs of precious sprays, 

that twine and press sweet blossoms cheek to cheek, 
why, when no wayward breath essays 
to tangle itself in your bright maze, 

so tremulous? Speak, bright branches, speak. 

"A nest lies hidden here — 
an old year's nest through winter safely kept; 
and happy boughs are we, for we 're 
of all the bloomy boughs most near 
where innocent birds last summer slept! 

Two wayfarers are flown 
back to the nest of merry months gone-by; 

and nestle wing to wing, unknown 

of all the world save us alone, 
and twitter in sleep, and dream they fly." 

32 



II. 

A MOCKING-BIRD 

A charm 
lies closely over all; 

no harm 
can any soul befall. 

So dark, 
so still, O lovely night . . . 

But hark, 
what heavenly-sweet affright? 

Burst, rise, irrepressible song! 
To hearken — 'tis to die, 
to float away amid a wild-wing'd throng — 
ecstatic notes — into the thrilling sky. 

Rush waves, of impassion'd sound 
till stars the dark abyss 
enkindle; till ye flood us forth, and, drown'd, 
cast us on shores remote of heaven's still bliss! 

III. 
THE OLD IDEAL 

O boyish 

Delight, 
why haunt me 

to-night? 

Forgotten 

almost, . . . 
yea, merely 

a ghost — 

a misty 

moongleam, 
a fancy, 

a dream, 

a vision that 

with dawn 
must fade and 

be gone! 

33 



IV. 

THE BRIDE ASLEEP 

No power hast Thou at all 
on Her, my Bride. 
Thou couldst enthrall 
the youth that long since died, 
never the man Thou darest here to haunt,- 
Wraith of the past. Spirit of ill, avaunt! 

She dreams of me . . . She breathes 
upon my breast . . . 
my hand ensheathes 
Her little hand . . . 'T were best 
never to wake when dreams are over-dear,- 
never to wake — ever to slumber here. 



V. 

EVOCATION 

What weird dream have I dream'd 
hard to recall? 

Ay! so meseem'd 

I stood in some vast hall 
lonely and sad, a disillusioned youth 
loathing the lie — fearing the face of truth. 

All the life since, became 
unreal; yes, She 
a myth, a name. 
I yearn'd to bow the knee, 
reverent to some strange Deity, my own 
Creature-of-cloud, Witch-of-my-dreams unknown. 

There mov'd unheard, but felt, 
a shining Thing, 
whose either wing 
cover'd me as I knelt: — 
"Vision of perfect being, holy, sweet, 
let me remain — perish, but kiss thy feet!" 

34 



VI. 

APPARITION AND EXORCISM 

Face, white 
'neath infinite night, 
eyes, full of love and light, — 
a mystic spell; 

lips, rose 
as dawn-lit snows, 
quiver, then tightly close, 
lest of their love too soon they tell; 

soft gleams 
of neck, dim dreams 
of shoulders, arms, 'neath streams 
of tumbling gloom: 

Love's form 
divine! A storm 
of passion shakes me. Warm 
with thy warm Self my ice-cold tomb! 

Nay, Thou, 
art even now 
another's, for thy brow 
my suit condemns; 

and yet . . . 
What snare is set — 
shining and dewy- wet, 
of grasses woven and daisy-stems? 

Ensnar'd? 
Nay, — who hath dar'd 
to bind Night's Queen dark-hair'd 
with mesh on mesh? 

to throw 
webs, silken, aglow 
with dew-pearls, o'er thy snow — 
stars gather'd in heaven's garden fresh? 

35 



Why rend 
from end to end 
those Eastern curtains? Bend 
o'er me, strange Queen! 

Thy face 
hath lost its grace? 
Fly, Siren, fly this place — 
Some foe destroyeth thee unseen. 

The sun! 
The morn begun! 
The stars blown out each one! 
Day's diadems 
flash bright. 
The Witch-of-night, 
the Siren moony-white 
hath vanish'd in a flare of gems! 

VII. 

THE BRIDE AWAKE 

Awake are the birds, 
awake is my heart, 
forgotten the words 
which made Night's magical spell but now; 

and happier am I, 

for near me Thou art; 
so sweet and so shy, 
my Bride! Truth sweeter than Dreams 
art Thou! 



36 



THE HAWK 

(A Ballad of Dawn In Colloquy) 
I. 
First voice— SUNRISE PRELUDE 

The Morn hath tiptoe stolen near to Night 
and cast her upon him in love's delight! 

Second voice — 

Their arms enlac'd, their warm close lips have met, 
her hair all unknotted — 'tis twilight yet! 

First voice — 

With her pale Self she covers him. She seems 
to lie like a snowdrift above his dreams. 

Second voice — 

White shines She, naked 'mid her golden hair, 
and smiles as He dies — for the Day is there! 

II. 

Third voice— THE PIGEON 

A Pigeon flies. Lo, it darts! it rocks in air, 

till the plumes of its wings meet behind — 
till the Foe is lost! But who can share 
my joy? Who sing it forth? Oh! ne'er 
to be gifted for utterance — doom unkind! 

III. 

First voice— "THE LARK 

Far up from the green of the field, 

from the gold of the sunlit river, 
from graves where mourners have kneel'd, 

from boughs with their sparkle of beads ashiver, 
up into the chalice of dawn — 

from th' eye of night in the lily of day, 
forth of his nest — is the Lark upgone 

on his steep, clear, song-pav'd way. 

37 



Up, into the sky is he fled, 

where the blue and the calm dwell ever, 
where sounds of struggle are dead: 

he hath vanquish'd its summit with wings' endeavor. 
Then, shake out thy shower of notes! 

The veins of silence with melody pulse. 
Sing, little Lark, from thy throat of throats! 

With thy joy heaven's heart convulse! 



IV. 

THE HAWK 
Second voice — 

A shadow! — a Foe — a scream! 

a shudder — grim claws — 
fiend's beak — keen eyes that gleam! 

a flash — a pause. 



A pitiful scream to hear — 
a rush to the sky — 

the Foe beneath! — no fear- 
a triumph-cry! 



Both voices- 



THE PAEAN 



Shout, shout, 
that the Fiend hath misst his prey! 
Mad song, ring out 
exultantly! 

Thrill! Thrill! 
In the heaven's great deep-blue eye, 
bask thee, and still 
sing, sing, on high! 



38 



VI. 

Third voice— "^"^ VOICELESS TRIUMPH 

O Lark! my soul was rescued from its foe 

but it knew not thy voicing occult 
that can utter glee, and heavenward throw 
the blissful soul to God! I glow 
with the fire of thy triumph. Exult! Exult! 

All voices and echoes — 

Exult! 



HIGHER MATHEMATICS 

Two and two make five, say I! 
This truth is as plain as day. For why? 
The whole is more than the sum I take 
of the parts; 
thoughts, feelings, passions, do not make 
human hearts; 
sums are not wholes 
with flowers and souls! 
So two and two make five, say I! 



WISHES 

What, Love, our toddling baby 
would be an angel bright? 
Ha! The white-winged angel, maybe 
would be baby, — if he might! 

Would the rock — be the plashing river 
that to the salt sea flows? 
Or the river — the poplar aquiver 
in the wind at even-close? 

Would the rose be a moonrise lily, 
or the lily a sunset rose? 
Then why We so foolish silly? 
Woe's me that no man knows. 
39 



A FATHER'S MEMORY 

O, ho! my baby Bacchant 

(Just three-years-old!) 

Hop-skipping with fresh-cut thyrsis 

o'er the dewy, briery wold; 

a bright crown above her ringlets 

of dandelion gold; 

left hand — clutching blackberries — 
squeezes and squirts their juice; 
white frock leopard-spotted, 
thorn- tattered to ribbons wind-loose; 
and mouth choke-full of laughter 
too crimson for human use! 

Blessed, blessed Apparition 
from years long long gone by, 
come dancing prancing hither, 
side-glancing, with wreath awry, 
advancing the leaf-tipped thyrsis, 
out-shouting the Bacchic cry! 

For my heart and mind hang heavy, 

and my body's eye droops dull. 

Wild brier-roses? Fierce briers dew-berried? 

Little hands their glories to cull? . . . 

Haste hither, O haste hither, my Girlie, 

Time's decree with thy smile to annul! 

For still I know that thou skippest 
and hoppest for eager glee 
down the path to the ivied cabin, 
calling shrilly for "Mamma" to see . . . 
And 't is I — I only am banished 
the old world of thy wee witchery •. . . 

While you, — you can scarce remember, . . . 
puzzled, shamefast, as I speak. 
"Oh, Father, dear, how silly!" . . , 

40 



And yet, ah, willy-nilly, I seek 

in day-dream, yea, and in night-dream 

to kiss that chubby cheek; 

snatch the dimpled wriggler proudly 
in greed beyond her ken; 
clutch, squeeze juice-oozing fingers, 
cram full the red mouth, and then — 
toss passionately, ay, toss her to skyward 
again, and again and again! 



SELFISH GRIEF 

"Lost! Lost!" Writhing with grief on God I cried 

that He would grant me once, but once, to see 

my Darling's face; — when lo, I woke, heart-free, 

whirled in a heavenward eddy's spiral wide, 

sucked up of hsmins angelical. Blue-eyed 

on river's bank, screaming for childish glee, 

with happy playmates. . . . Yea, I know 'tis he! 

From stone to stone he leapt to the farther side, 

over his golden locks a quick look cast, 

and darted into glory shut from sight. 

"Son, only the torrent of selfish tears men shed, 

impassable, sundereth, (swift-glistering past 

thy feet) love's hope from utmost love's delight!" 

"What comfort, God, if still my child be dead?" 



ADRIFT 

Drift! 
Who would care to lift 

the cast-off rose 
from the stream's traitorous breast? 

No one knows 
whose it was — where it bloomed — 

Only, doomed — doomed — doomed — 

It is best — 

drift! 

41 



THE TWIN POPLAR 

(A Summer Night's Revery) 

Among the mob of clover 

(their wee hoary heads nod- 
nodding to the wavy sod — ) 
we lie 

You and I 

by the placid cool lagoon. 
Above us — the pale sky over — 

fluffed flocks of gleamy cloudlets flee — 

from the radiance keen 

of the enhaloed moon. 
And shrubberies, fantastically free, 

exuberant tree-masses, loose and large, 

(Us and the sky's earth-touch between,) 

pile them along the farther marge, 

and fitfully pant in the wind and swerve and sway. 
And thro' their midst, away, away 

lo, a forth-streaming wide . . . 

(athwart, 
to where the arched span of the bridge is 
for phantom feet . . . ) 
an animate hither-thither fair and fleet 

of dazzling shimmer 

in wayward sport 

that dieth soon 

to a ghostly glimmer 

against the hazy world-end ridges 

beneath the allhallowing haloed moon. 
And somehow, Dear, 

hearkening, meseems I hear 

the laughter faint of ripply lips. . . . 
And thine eyes and mine converge 

(Hark, the dew from the trailing lilac drips!) 
involuntarily upon yon tall twin Poplar grey 

in the invisible spirit urge 

now blessedly one, now twain again 

as for rapturous lover's play. ... 

42 



(What subtle fragrance wafted over 

maketh breathing delicious pain? 
Or is it close about us, the honey-clover 
nod-nodding sweet-gossipwise 
to the glistenings and grass-Hspings of the sod?) 
Ha! How yon Poplar doth thine eyes 
and mine fascinate — mirk-rooted, ghost-sure 
in mystery, where the living shimmer 
fadeth dimmer 
and doth grope 
to feel of the misty sward slope. . . . 

(Dear God, how pitifully poor 
whom thou givest no wealth of love so ! . . .) 
For lo, lo! 
into the vague, the Poplar lif teth yon cloven shadow- 
flame, 
then anon — still, still very, very silvery, 
together glideth one forever and the same. 

Dreamed have we the silence that requireth 
no speech. 

Such marrying of pure body and lofty soul 
as inspireth 

the play of twain — each in each — 
ever free, ever whole; 

such lifting up foregathered into the light- 
such rooting down — deep, deep 
by effulgent waters, watch eternally to keep 

nigh the bridge whose mystic span 

bindeth Eden to Eden, man to man. . . . 

Love still is gracious, tenderly heart-single. . . . 

(Ha! the wicked titter 

of silly leaves in the gust overhead — 
the cynical glitter 

in the moon too cruelly unveiled. . . . 
That we failed 

that our high noon of youth is dead! 

43 



The clover noddles wag and wag, 

part and meet, 
and ripples mocking wink 

nag and brag 

at the brink 

by our feet. . . .) 

Love still is gracious, tenderly heart-single 

tho' from his dizzy heights perhaps 

he hath suffered his proud soaring ways to lapse 

to some bloom-dingle 

of shy oblivious sweetness — 

some glow-glad cottage ingle 

where petty joys commingle 

to a comforting completeness. . . . 
But this ache, ah, this ache! 

what tho' all this shamefast while 
(Not thy smile 
can the spell, Dear, of unearthly wonder break!) 
We against love who unaware have sinned, 

we, on the hither bank of the lagoon 

prove the illusion — to be dissipated soon; 
and yonder. We, unwittingly we, 

our very Selves wave in the wind, 

uplifted from the grey-green of the gloom 

for the play of spirit; in quest of freer room — 

yea, the still moon-silvery scope 

of a mysterious 

imperious 

holy hope? 

Who knoweth which we truliest be 
(O glory that forth floweth! 
O fragrant wind that bloweth!) 
the soul in flesh we feel not, or the soul in dream we see? 
Who knoweth tonight, who knoweth? 



44 



PARENTAL CONSENT 

"You will live to have love — love — love?" 

Love, did you say? 

Ah, little child, do you understand 

what thing you ask? 

A period of happy dreams and hopes — 

poetic imaginings, — 

like bees thro' bloomy paradises 

a-wing in the sun, 

gathering the honey to store in their hive — 

the soul of the beloved . . . 

for the world to rob to the din of its creeds? 

Say rather, you want 

illusion first, and then — ah, disillusion; 

patient efforts, 

cruel efforts to revive the dead, 

recall the forgotten. 

You want delicious dependence dear 

to alternate 

with fierce despair of freedom; — alas! 

surrender yourself you do not dare, 

nor can you wholly 

withhold yourself! You want, I know, 

disappointments, griefs 

together borne; and vexations also 

that part sunder 

utterly soul from soul; — woes, shames, 

pitiful sorrows 

for which each blames the other, tho' both 

be innocent; 

of which either blames himself in secret, 

tho' both be guilty. 

Ah, child, my own sv/eet, smiling child, 

I still can see 

the little babe — (You cannot, for you 

have forgotten that babe) — 

you want to know life now, death, the agonies, 

hazards, and blisses 

incommunicable? Ay, you are right, 

45 



none will deny it: — 
to be gloriously miserable 
at the v/orst, is better 

than the common content of day after day, 
in which one knows not 

the strength of the soul, and forgets there is heaven 
and hell. You are right. 

"To live for love only — for love and for love!" 
It is foolish, I think? 
Yes, and wise also, my child, very wise. 
We, your elders, 

who once were foolish as you, would not have you 
wiser, God knows — 

only more foolish, maybe, tho' our heart 
must ache with your ache. 
Oh, to be foolish again as you, more foolish 
and wiser so! 

Therefore we will weave you the bridal wreath, 
we will smile 

gaily, but of you unheard, in our hearts 
(forgive us, for who 

can help misgivings and bodings?) the bell 
shall toll away, 

toll to the peal of joy — the sobbing knell 
for us of our child. . . . 
The child whom often in dreams I see 
by ocean beach, 

.toy-pail and spade in hand, little dress 
tucked up — bare legs, 
chubbs' feet splash-splash 
in the foam of the spent green surf! 
The bell shall toll 

the knell of memories, hopes fulfilled. 
But you shall hear not — 
only for you the happy peal, and the cries 
"God bless you, God bless you!" 
And — God bless you indeed, tho' cur eyes 
fill with tears 

while we tell you how happy we are 
that you — have love! 

46 



THE WIDOWER 

A respite grant, Love, if no dear relief; 
lest maddened by this torturing fell Woe 
I perish not, but work thine overthrow 

of whom he holdeth right and might in feof. 

Love, my Lord, of caitiffs am I chief 

on whom thou dost such guerdon misbestow; 
the spirit's extreme ordeal to undergo! 
Shall grief slay — whoso slew not thee and grief? 

1 cannot hearken now her wooing voice, 
be rapt in her embraces safe and close; — 

in vain with her thou biddest me rejoice, 

downtethered here 'mid sensual things and gross! 
Disloyal to the past— or maimed, morose? 

Nay, canst thou offer Love, no holier choice? 



THE BEECHES OF FERN BANK 

I. 

FELLOWSHIP 

O beeches, dear Fern Bank beeches, 

I greet you in haste as I pass. 
How vast, still, and tender your reach is 

over the wavy grass! 
Your boughs (droop they moveless, or stir they, 

soft-swaying in the summery air,) 
are inviting me — all unworthy — 

your fellowship true to share. 

O beeches, dear Fern Bank beeches, 

men may envy your vigor and grace: 
for, grown great in your brotherhood, each is 

content with his ancient place; 
not restive as We and ambitious, 

with our fate perversely at strife. 
What better, dear trees, can ye wish us 

than with You — to live our life? 

47 



O beeches, dear Fern Bank beeches, 

a consecrate grove ye are, 
for Dantes and chaste Beatrices 

in the gUmmer of the twiUght star; 
for memories, ecstatical fancies 

alone in the mid of the night; 
not bann'd from your shadow romance is, 

or Utopian devotion to right! 

O beeches, dear Fern Bank beeches, 

calm warders of river and road, 
persuasive your whispered speech is, — 

with You will I make mine abode; 
and study as You to stand quiet 

upreaching to heaven in prayer 
for this beautiful Earth, so nigh it, 

while fondling its undulant hair! 



II. 

FAREWELL 



Gleams the moon in the Fern Bank beeches! 
How each mystic shadow reaches 
down the softly grey-green slopes 

of dew-wet grass! 
Ah, my heart, my heart is aching — 
hurt by dread of a long leave-taking, 
for the ghosts of happy hopes 

on the night wind pass. 

Dreams the moon in the Fern Bank beeches? 
hark, how intimate their speech is, 
meant for none but loving ears 

to comprehend: 
wistfully they query whether 
quite in vain we've lived together, 
shared our longings, fancies, fears — 

that all should end? 
48 



Nay, old stalwarts, ancient beeches, 
though my soul your help beseeches, 
nought can Ye to stay the course 

of human fate. 
Blessed Ye, that here forever 
rooted rise with no endeavor, 
knowing no regret, remorse, 

no doubt, no hate! 

Ah, how gracious each to each is, 
hallowed fellowship of beeches 
by the gleaming river bank 

at watch, and ward! 
Would the human friend and lover 
might your magic spell discover, 
getting, giving holy thank 

in sweet accord! 

Your close bonds not death can sever, 
faith and hope will fail you never, 
earth beneath, and sky above, 

green hills around; 
blessed, blessed Fern Bank beeches! 
Us — 'tis loss alone that teaches 
how to make with wealth of love 

our life abound. 



49 



TO THE T'WO LITTLE LADIES 

CLARA SYLVIA 

AND 

PHOEBE 

FOR "WHOM THE STORY OF THE DEWDROPS WAS ORIGINALLY 
"MADE UP" 

BE THE THING NOW DONE INTO RIME 

MOST LOVINGLY DEDICATED 

BY THEIR PLAYFELLOW 



THE DEWDROPS 

"WHERE MORE IS MEANT THAN MEETS THE EAR" 

A PHANTASY 

IN TWO TABLEAUX AND THIRTEEN SCENES 



BEING AN ENTERTAINMENT FOR 
BIG FOLKS BY LITTLE PEOPLE 



GIVEN IN ALAMEDA 
AT CHRIST CHURCH 
FALL FESTIVAL, 1905 



N. B. — Trees at Right 
and Left. The Oak, 
Elm, and Beech are 
grouped at back of 
stage. Across Center 
stage, back, a tinsel 
web is hung on the 
branches. The Drops 
— Green, Blue, Red, 
Golden, and Violet — 
are grouped before it 
as though hanging 
there. The Spider is 
above the web at 
Right. 



SYNOPSIS 
Tableau I. The Death of the Drops 

Scene I. — Tfte Fairy Queen causes the Dciv io appear by the 

magic of her Pansy. 
Scene II. — The Dewdrops, laughing in the meshes of a huge 

spiderweb, beg the Moon to abide with them forever. 
Scene III. — They are amazed at the appearance of Hying things 

like stars of heaven, or themselves, the stars of earth; and 

the Ghostmoth explains their nature. 
Scene IV. — The Spider, hypocrite, ascetic, sensualist, in zvhose 

Web the Dcivdrops hang, invokes the Wind to rid him of 

their noxious presence. 

Scene V.—The Trees discourse of the Wind's coming, and the 
Ghostmoth bids them a last adieu. 

Scene VI. — The Wind of Death blozvs to the terror of the Dew- 
drops, but the Golden Drop and the Blue Drop are full of 
faith, and leap dozvn from the Web of Life. 

Scene VII. — The Droplets, into which the falling Dewdrops 
broke, sing their gleeful Hymn of New Life. 



N. B. — The web is re- 
moved, and the hedge 
appears to the rear 
across the stage. 
Flowers are grouped 
to right and left, a 
dead branch of an 
oak comes over the 
hedge, on which the 
Treetoad may squat. 



Tableau U. The Doom of the Dew 

Scene VIII. — The Droplets rejoice, arousing the wrath of the 
Treetoad (professional prophet of evil, iconoclast, and ma- 
terialistic cynic), and, grozving to drops in the increasing 
dusk, they overhear the Wisdom of the Trees. 

Scene IX. — The Dezudrops, thus comforted, sing of the Unseen 
Glory; zvhereupon the Treetoad bursts into such fierce railing 
that all the Deiurops faint for horror. 

Scene X. — Tozi'ord dazvn they recover consciousness, and are 
startled and gladdened by the little optimist, the Wren. 

Scene XL — Fearing, and hoping, the day begins; the flowers ap- 
pear in new color; the Ruby-throat assures them the Sun is 
a floiver, but they prefer to believe him a z'ast Dewdrop, and 
are edified greatly by the Vision of Last Things, vouchsafed 
to the Golden Drop. 

Scene XII. — Gradually drazvn up into the zvarm air, their spirits 
sing a heavenly rapture of Assumption. 

Scene XIII. — The Fairy Queen comes forth in the front of the 
stage as Epilogue to gladden the folk in the pit with thoughts 
of their ozvn eternal childhood of soul, zvhile the attendant 
fays and fairies engage in a ballet of pantomime. 



52 



TABLEAU I. THE DEATH OF THE DEWDROPS 

SCENE I. THE ENCHANTMENT 

(Enter Fairy Queen, in front of Tableau Curtain. Takes C. stage, 

waving wand, and speaking a spell.) 
Fairy Queen: 

O the dew, the dew, on sprig and spray! 

on tendril, frond, blade, petal, plume — 

Fay Chorus (invisible) : 

blinking and winking to swing and sway 
of moonrise sheen and cool perfume. 

Fairy Queen: 

O the dew, the dew, in hallowed hush 
of the hovering haze and mystery born — 

Fay Chorus (invisible) : 

blinking and winking from leafage lush, 
from moss-strand, silken web and thorn. 

(Enter Fay Chorus, softly, on tip-toe from R. and L.) 

Fairy Queen: 

To the wafts of verbena and heliotrope, 
to the whiffs of orange-bloom and musk, 

Fay Chorus (dancing lightly) : 

big grow the dewdrops for glee and hope, 
in shimmer and glimmer and humid dusk. 

(A moment of silence zvhile all move in a ballet of listening.) 

What blithe, fine tones! (Jubilant.) The Dew! 
(Turning to the audience.) The dew! 

(Chorus of Fays divides into groups R. and L.) 

Fay Chorus (R. and L. alternating) : 

(R.) Poor— 

(L.) folk— 

(R.) that hear not— 

(L.) the twinkling 

(All.) Choir! 

53 



Fairy Queen {pitifully to the audience) : 

Touch eyelid and ear with the Pansy blue, 

{Chorus R.) And ho! — 

(L.) Lo!— 

{All.) Your dream-world of Desire! 

{The Chorus of Fays vanishes to R. and L. as Tableau curtain 
rises leaving the Queen in the center. Chorus of Dewdrops 
grouped about her to rearward. Scene as described in 
Tableau I.) 



SCENE II. THE MOON 

The Dewdrop Chorus {to ballet motions, sing "The Chant of 
the Dew") : 

See— 

We— 

be — 
{Bowing.) 

the tiny — •* 

shiny — 

Dew! 
{Moving arms gracefully.) 

We dangle — 

and bespangle — 

the bloom-tangle — ■ 

wet! 
{Prolonging tone as for an incantation.) 

blinking — 

and winking — 

Moon — 

Moon — 

at you! 

And we croon — 

"So soon?" 

"Nay, leave us not yet!" 
{Livelier.) 

For on leaf-tip, fern-frond, wisp of grass, 

we are growing, ho, growing 

big and wise! 

54 



{_With motions sweeping the zenith.') 

And ho! 

We know — 

as slow — 

you pass — 

you love us well — 

white — 

light— 

of the skies! 
(They kneel, surrounding Queen, arms and bodies swaying. 
Looking up rapturously.) 

For winsome we dartle 

in silvery shoon — 

o'er 

the far-away floor 

of skyey sheen; 

and for joy we startle 

or slumber aswoon 

on the swaying air of the garden green! 
Fairy Queen (sadly, to herself; the Dewdrops looking at one 
another as if they half heard, and wondering at the unseen 
speaker) : 

They deem the stars their kin 
, that dwell 

high in the sky! 

How strong, poor dreamers dear, the spell! 

For far is nigh, 

and nigh, alas! 

is far, so far! 

Dew in the grass, 

in heaven, the star! 
(During last lines Queen, slowly waving wand, approaches L. 

1st E. Exit at last line.) 
(Dewdrops rub their eyes, shake themselves, and rise. As they 
chant final lines, they group at R. and L. up stage, zvith arms 
uplifted to the Moon.) 
Chorus of Dewdrops: 

Oh, the dew-folk above, 

as we on earth, 

55 



all beg you, for love, 

dear Moon, 

one boon! 

We will rollic 

ay — and frolic, 

and make you mirth, 

if you '11 stay with us, stay 

for aye — 

white Moon! 



SCENE III. THE FIREFLIES 

Red Drop: Look! 

Blue Drop: Look! 
Golden Drop: What was that flash — 

of grass-green light? 
Green Dropr Why, one of us! 
Red Drop: Some rash 

young Dewdrop spright! 
{Ghostnioth enters from R. and flutters back and forth among 

them.) 
Violet Drop: Nay, fly thro' empty air? 

No wings have we! 
Blue Drop: We 'd fly if v/e could dare 

to fling us free! 
Red Drop: A fire-spark on the breeze 

blown hither and yon! 
Violet Drop: So high? 
Green Drop: Over tops of trees? 
Blue Drop: In the moonshine wan? 

Ghostmoth (fluttering among them) : 

Poor silly people of dew! 
Dewdrop Chorus: (Right.) 

Ghostmoth, you know? 
Ghostmoth (to the Red Drop) : 

They 're firefolk, 
(to the Golden drop) 

bright, like you! 

that come and go, 

part moth, part dewdrop, they! 

56 



Golden Drop: Half-sisters! 
Green Drop: Weird! 

Blue Drop: The hoped-for marvel! 

Violet Drop: Nay, 

the mystery feared! 
Blue Drop and Golden Drop (singing) : 

Be they most-drop or most-moth: 

Or half fairly and half 

we be glad . . . 
Green Drop: sad. 
Golden Drop: good Ghostmoth! 

Violet Drop: We should weep. 
Red Drop: We would laugh! 

Blue Drop: Why tremble? 

Violet Drop: That a change 

might come on us. 
Red Drop: Into some being strange? 

Golden Drop: Mysterious? 
Blue Drop: Nay, that were also glee! 

Green Drop: As dear as this? 
Golden Drop: 'Oh, anyhow to be 
Blue Drop and Golden Drop: 

is bliss — is bliss! 
(The Dezvdrops clasp their hands in ecstasy. All their move- 
ments shotild be slow.) 



SCENE IV. THE SPIDER 

(The trees sway with lozv, moaning sotinds. The Dewdrops 
shiver slightly.) 

Violet Drop: Watch the tree- tops moving 
athwart the sky. 
Our v/isdom reproving. 
They wave us good-by. 
In the heaven they 're caressing 
yon velvety room. 
With boughs of mist blessing 
The glimmering gloom. 



Green Drop: 
Red Drop: 
Blue Drop: 

Golden Drop: 



57 



The Spider: (IVavcs frotit legs about. At the sound of his 
voice the ChostmotJi flutters out R.) 

O Wind, good Wind, kind Wind! 
Hearken, hearken, and heed! 
Violet Drop: What is the Wind, I wonder? 
Green Drop: The Oak's and the Elm's playfellow? 
Red Drop: 

A thing that with lightning and thunder 
will leap and roar and bellow! 
Spider: O Wind, good Wind, kind Wind, 

which much lovest the spider breed! 
Red Drop: The truth I told. For methinks 
the owley-eyed Ghostmoth knows 
who gossips with double-pinks 
and tickles the baby-rose; 
who flirts with jessamine wreaths, 
and kisses the columbine; 
and in breaths-of-heaven deep breathes 
to blow in the trumpet-vine! 
Golden Drop: 

Yet whoever, 'mong Dewdrops, heard 
of lightning and thunder before? 
Blue Drop: The Ghostmoth told you? 
Golden Drop: Absurd! 
Blue Drop: Mere fancy! 
Golden Drop: Leap! 
Blue Drop: Bellow? 

Golden Drop: And roar? 

Spider: Wind, Wind, good Wind, kind Wind! 
Hearken, hearken thy Spider; 
who in nothing hath sinned, 
long fasting by law; 
yet most thankfully grinned, 
when he glutted his maw. 
O Wind, good Wind, kind Wind! 
Golden Drop: What horrors I hear 

against my will! 
Blue Drop: I shudder! 

Red Drop: I fear! 

Green Drop: O hush! 

58 



Violet Drop: Be still! 

Spide; : The bird and butterfly 

despise thy faithful Spider. 

Poor sillies, that can't tell why 

they flit and flutter by. 

They know thee not as I, 

Thou rich provider! 
Violet Drop: An evil spell 

he droneth — alas! 
Green Drop: Ah, who can tell 

what Cometh to pass? 
Spider: The wasp and bumble-bee 

in yellow hats and hosen, 

they deem them fair and free, 

buzzing right busily. 

Poor honey thieves! But we, 

We be thy chosen! 
Golden Drop: Think you the Wind 

will hearken and come? 
Green Drop: He's jealous. 
Red Drop: Chagrin'd. 

Violet Drop: I would he were dumb! 
Spider: To work and wait and trust 

our wont and use and duty. 

Thou riddest of dew and dust 

that harm us and disgust 

our webs, for thou art just, 

to worth and beauty! 
Golden Drop: A loathsome thought! 
Blue Drop: The dust like the dew! 
Green Drop: By doubts distraught, . . . 
Violet Drop: O, v/ould that I knew! 
Spider: O Wind, good Wind, kind Wind, 

Hearken, hearken thy Spider! 

Thy thrifty down-glider, 

on sticky thread, 

who spins his web wider, 

and squats overhead — 

the steadfast abider, 

thy modest self-hider, 

59 



on gnats and flies and lady-bugs fed. 
Come quickly, O Wind, kind Wind! 

{With the closing lines the Spider descends, and scurries 
away R.) 



SCENE V. THE TREES 

The Oak: Ho, the Wind is coming, brothers, 

I feel it in leaf and twig! (Sv.'ays.) 

The Beech (to the Elm) : 

He little recks of others 
v/ho aren't as stout and big! 
The Oak: Ho, the Wind is coming, I feel it, 

in bough and knotty limb! 
The Elm (to the Beech) : 

He is happy and can't conceal it. 
The Beech (to the Elm) : 

Ah, trouble will temper him! 
The Oak: O brothers, the gladsome tremble, 
in bole and trunk and root! 
Wild goblins of air assemble 
to whistle and hollo and hoot! 
The Elm: I hate this bluster and v/restle 

that distract from our skyv/ard look. 
The Beech: Our sisters who cluster and nestle 

will be torn in their lowliest nook. 
The Oak: If only the warfare were truceless, 

none could live but the brave and robust. 
The Beech: Are our blossoming kinsfolk useless? 
The Elm: Shall they fight as we? Is it just? 
(The Ghostmoth flutters in from R. Flits about from Dewdrop 

to Dezvdrop.) 
The Ghostmoth: The fireflies, helter-skelter 
and scurrying off to shelter. 
And Ghostmoth, too, must hide him, 
(snails, earwigs, and beetles beside him,) 
in a dusty crack of the bark, 
in a knot-hole dank and dark, 
lest the Wind his body tear. 
Dear Dewdrops, have a care. 

60 



I shudder for you! Ah, why 
can't shiny Dewdrops fly? 
For then, we might together 
outUve the boisterous weather. 
Farewell, sweet friends, good-by! 
{Aside as he Hits atvay.) 

O, that beauty so soon must die! (Exit L.) 

(Shic'cring among the Dezvdrops.) 
Green Drop: He saith: 

"'Tis death!" 
Golden Drop: If all must die, 
it should 
be good 
to die — 
say I! 
Blue Drop: At last! 
Violet Drop: He's near! 
Red Drop: Hold fast! 

Violet Drop: He's here. {They lean toward each other.) 
The Wind {invisible) : 

1 'm the Wind who would wistfully woo you, 

Woo! Woo! 
{Trees sway and moan.) 
The Elm: O Wind, you're a bully and coward, 

not to show your face when you smite! 
The Wind: Who '11 go round and under and thro' you, 

You! You! 
The Beech: On bushes dainty-fiowered 

why wreak your savage spite? 
The Wind: Who'll strip and uproot and undo you? 

Who? Who? 
{The Dewdrops shiver and lean toward each other.) 
Violet Drop: Heart sore! 

Green Drop: Soul-sick! 

Red Drop: What roar! 

Violet and Green Drops: Help! Quick! 
Red Drop: The ache 

benumbs. 
Blue Drop: I quake! 

Golden Drop: Death comes! 

6i 



The Oak: 

Tho' I the more boldly and proudly uptowered, 
Brothers, we're shamed by your moan and groan! 

The Beech: I spoke out my mind. 

The Elm: I called him coward! 

The Oak (sarcastically) : 

And so, away, ye deem, he's flown? 



SCENE VI. THE WIND OF DEATH 

(The Trees sway more violently zvitli moaning sounds. One of 
the Dewdrop Chorus at rear R. who has had no spoken part, 
drops out of sight behind slanting approach. Two little boys 
at L. run down stage, joined by two little girls from R. on 
the zvay. They chant.) 

Dewdrop: (R.) I drop, I run, 

fall — break! 
Two Droplets: (R.) To— make— 

me — more! 
Two Droplets: For one — and one 

are — two ! 
The Four Droplets: And two — and two 

are — four! 
iAll the Droplets Chorus, repeating the above words and business 
as often as desired, four by four, run down and dance all 
together in a ring.) 

Wind-begotten 

from on high. 
Dew-born, 

small, small — 
but unspotten — 

why, why 
would you mourn 
our fall? 
(They group themselves to R. and L. of Big Drops, turning 
tozvard them.) 

still clinging 
to the old? 

62 



Come, leap 

from the strife! 
Drop singing 

fourfold, 
into deep 
New Life! 
Golden Drop and Blue Drop {more and more agitated, croon 
this dirge) : 

If first we go, 

or last we stop, 
if fast, or slow, 

what matter, Dewdrop? 

Violet Drop (imploringly) : 
Hush, dears, 
my fears 
you excite! 

Golden Drop: For lo, we know, 

none long may abide 

Blue Drop: In panic and woe, 

in glory and pride. 

Red Drop (dcHantly) : 

I have fought, 

this thought, 

and yet fight! 
Blue Drop and Golden Drop (alternating) : 

There is none, nay none, 

but must somewhile slip, 

downglide to run, 

close-cleave to drip. 

Green Drop (in terror) : 
O the leap 
to the deep, 
from the height! 

Golden Drop: What matter, 
despairer, 
so we spatter, 
to glitter? 

63 



Blue Drop: So we shatter 

to fairer, 

so we scatter 

to fitter? 
Red Drop (angrily) : 

I 'il delay 

while I may, 

the delight. 
Red, Violet, and Green Drops: 

We would hold 

to the old, 

if we might! 
(Golden Drop and Blue Drop let go and repeat the business of 

the first Drop that fell.) 
Red Drop: What befell? 

Green and Violet Drops: 

Who can tell? 
Golden and Blue Drops (running) : 

Good night! 
(Droplets run in with same words and business as above.) 



SCENE VII. THE DROPLETS 

(The Droplets down stage greet the incoming Droplets.) 
The Newcomers: 

We flew 

to the new, 

as our right. 
The Older Droplets: 

The Red, and Green, and Blue, 

the Violet, and Golden dew, 

held, O so tight, so tight! 

But they danced, and shook and fell, 

and broke, and ran pell-mell! 
Newcomers: And lo, we alight, we alight! 
First (Red) Droplet: 

I am fire, — 

my desire 

fulfilled! 

64 



Second and Third (Blue) Droplets: 
We be sky, 
(you and I,) 
as we willed! 
Fourth and Fifth {Green) Droplets: 
Such green, 
who hath seen? 
Sixth (Gold) Droplet: 

or such gold? 
Grand Chorus: Of the shade, 

that we prayed, 
heart-bold! 
Right Semi Chorus: 

If fated or free, 
if mine or his, 
Left Semi Chorus: 

the hope to be, 
and the fear that is. 
Grand Chorus: all's one to me, 

come that, come this — 
for the hither is glee, 
and the yonder, bliss! 
{Violet, Green, and Red Drops fall. The Droplet Chorus runs 
out R. and L., singing: "I drop, I run," etc.) 

CURTAIN. 



65 



TABLEAU II. THE DOOM OF THE DEW 

SCENE VIII. THE MOON SET 

(The Big Drops are grouped Center stage. Droplet Chorus 
R. and L. Treetoad on top of Oak Branch L. up stage.) 

Droplet Chorus: (R.) 

From wee to big, 
they grew — and grew, 
Chorus: (L.) on blooming sprig 

and leafy twig 
All: the merrymaking dew! 

Chorus: (R.) From big to wee 

we broke — 
Chorus: (L.) but woke 

again to be 
All: the glad, the free, 

the starry- twinkling folk! 
The Treetoad (breaks in harshly) : 
Be still, you silly, 
simpleton rout! 

(Moon begins to set behind branches.) 
There! Willy nilly, 
your light goes out. 

(Stage slozvly darkens.) 
'T is only reflected 
from yon high lamp. 

(Points to last edge of moon.) 
You saucy, affected, 
twinkles of damp! 
(The Droplets exeunt softly, the Drops taking their room in 

the front of the stage.) 
Blue Drop: Who be you to joy in evil — 

uttering ugly words and rude? 
Red Drop: Whom do we harm, if insooth v/e believe ill? 

How jar we on your solitude? 
Treetoad: Treetoad am I — a prophet uncouth, 
on my crooked oak-limb asquat; 
whence boldly I rouse the world to truth, 
decreeing what is what — and not! 

66 



For lo, I know of wind and rain, 
long ages ere they blow and fall! 

My trill and croak be oracles plain, 
understood and dreaded of all! 

{The Elm and the Beech, softly sii>ayi)ig, sing low the follow- 
ing dirge.) 

Elm: Lower and lower, slowly down 

glides the silver glory. 
Beech: Twinkle and shimmer in darkness drown, 

all, all is transitory. 
The Three Trees Together: 

But moon goes forth, and stars come in; 

awed we stand, beholding 
the olden end, and the new begin; 
fall followed of fresh unfolding. 

Red Drop: You hear the speech 

of Elm and Beech? 
Violet Drop: Ay, soft aeolian tones. 
Golden Drop: What wisdom strange, 

of chance and change! 
Blue Drop: What sorrowful, sweet moans! 
Golden Drop: They know so much. 
Blue Drop: The stars they touch. 
Golden Drop: Their tops yet see the Moon. 
Violet Drop : Long mosses grey 

hang mistily, 

and their branches vast festoon. 
Green Drop: I tremble, aghast, 

to mark how fast 

our light hath dwindled pale. 
Violet Drop: The Treetoad 's queer, 

and cross — but a seer. 
Red Drop : Soothsayings of ttimes fail. 
Blue Drop: He's over glad ** 

to tell the bad . . . 
Golden Drop: and the truly-wise, methinks 

make understood 

the fair and the good . . . 

67 



Blue Drop : they glimpse thro' the cracks and the clinks ! 

Golden Drop: Ah, let us learn 

from such to yearn 

for all things good and fair. 

Blue Drop: And calmly trust 
new gladness must 
come forth of our cark and care. 



SCENE IX. THE TREETOAD 

(A gauze curtain is dropped to dim the scene.) 

The Dewdrops (szcayiug together, sing) : 

Our love we are wont to croon 
to the big, round, beautiful Moon 

in the high and far away. 
But quite is the splendor gone, 
his halo of shine withdrawn, 

while We — we stay, and stay. 

Be the stars — our wonder and pride 
our kinsfolk multiplied? 

'T is to tell us: "All is well!" 
Not ours the jealous plaint, 
tho' feeble our gleam and faint, 

and we fade invisible. 

For the Wind of Death fierce blew; 
wherefrom at length we knew 

that life is more and more. 
Be the light then less and less, 
thro' dim and dark we guess 

a Glory to adore. 

Treetoad: O stupid rabble, 

no knowledge, no wit! 
Alone fool's babble 
proves infinite! 

68 



Your hope 's immodest, 
your faith absurd, 

your reasoning the oddest 
the world has yet heard. 

For what can continue 
above you, below? 

without you, within you? 
What Cometh must go! 

None ever returneth, 
tho' others appear. 

A fool, then, who yearneth 
for more than is here. 

But Dewdrop noddle 
with thinking might ache! 

So, a lie, dears, coddle 
for phantasy sake. 

Yet for worse, for better, 
for better, for worse, 

I will hold to the letter 
and the spirit — I curse! 

Green Drop: I knew our hymn 

he would deride. 
Red Drop: He's clammy and grim 

and goggle-eyed. 
Violet Drop: The godless wretch 

doth pride exalt! 
Green Drop: He'll find you, and fetch 

a flaw, a fault . . . 
Golden Drop : in starry dews 
Blue Drop: and dewy stars, 

Red Drop : the evil he pursues, 
Golden Drop: and the perfect he mars. 

69 



Treetoad: Ha, ha! You will cherish 
a flattering lie? 
"All, all must perish 
save you and I?" 

How strangely amusing 

your cool conceit! 
And your betters abusing, 

what noble heat! 

From fixed star and planet, 

your pedigree 's proved? 
Why not rather from granite, 

by tempest unmoved? 

The' the thought be distasteful— 

a wicked doubt — 
meseems — the world's wasteful 

of dewdrops devout! 

You think it should stick to 

such miracles rare? 
But — "mirabile dictu" — 

it doesn't much care! 

And why? There be plenty 

to prance in your place. 
So— "festina lente!"— 

you '11 vanish apace. 

The end of the story 

the dewdrop-kind — 
"memento mori" — 

should keep it in mind! 

Good-by, poor sillies, 

your doom is foreshown; 
and now my good will is, 

to leave you alone! 

(Exit Treetoad R.) 

(The Dewdrops all faint away. Form in groups across stage. 
Pause, with soft, dreamy music.) 
70 



SCENE X. THE DAWN 

(.Soft music.) 

Violet Drop (tvaking) : 

I shiver with strange cold 

in fitful whiffs of air. 
Green Drop (aroused and dazed; sitting up) : 

No dewdrop twinkles and glisters? 

Where be you, O my sisters? 
Red Drop: The earth, it waxeth old, 

the happy skies outwear. 
Green Drop: The stars are fading dimmer 

in a haze of mazy glimmer. 
Violet Drop; Gone — gone! And unconsoled 

we sorrow! — Where? Oh, where? 
Golden Drop (sta)ids, hesitatingly) : 

Maybe, tho' darkness hide them, 

no evil doth betide them! 
Blue Drop (rising, taken with the new suggestion) : 

Sad converse sweet they hold? 

As we, their wonder share? 
(TJic rest of the Dezvdrops sloivly rise.) 
Golden Drop (mysteriously) : 

Ah, while they dim and darken — 

th' hushed whisper within they hearken 
Violet Drop (with awe) : 

as nigher the feel, and the fold 

of the dream-like slow despair! 
(The Cockwren hops out from R down stage. The Dewdrops 
start back in afright and gather in group at back of stage. 
Their fear is soon overcome by the cheerful tones of the 
Wren as he hops back to the hedge top.) 

Cockwren (to his mate in the nest on the hedge) : 
From the fairyland of sleep 
awaken, O, awaken, 
Puff-o-down, you and I! 
From the nest-rim a peep, 

fluflfed wing-feathers shaken — 
then hop, flit and fly! 

71 



Out-twitter we the chill 

that the dawn-world numbeth, — 
flutter and twitter away, 
with expectance athrill, — 

for He Cometh, He cometh 
over dingle and brae. 

Violet Drop: Who, sisters, cometh think you? Death? 

that the wren on the hedge-top twittereth? 
Green Drop: The Treetoad a doom of woe foretold. 
Blue Drop: Is wisest he, who most liketh to scold? 
Red Drop: Mayhap that cross-patch prophet erred! 
Golden Drop: I am fain to believe the blithesome bird. 
Violet Drop: So restless and eager, — can any be wise? 

'T is surely Death shall awake and arise. 
Green Drop: Ay, the stars be one by one extinct, 

and our fate with the fate of them is linkt. 
Violet Drop: No feigned hope, no craven dismay, — 

Await we the mystery cold and grey. 

The Wren (hopping about in great excitement) : 
With dewdrops thickly 

the world is sown. 
He cometh quickly 
from the golden Unknown 

to quicken and gladden, 

to kindle and warm; 
with passion to madden, 

with love to transform. 



Violet Drop: 

Green. Drop: 
The Wren:. 
Red Drop: 



What rosy hues 
the skies suffuse! 
A veil withdrawn. 
The Dawn! — the Dawn! 
The marvel grows! 
It flashes — it glows! 



All the Drops: 



The gloom undone — 
the glory hath won! 



72 



{The light grows on the stage.) 




The Wren: The Sun- 




All the Drops: the Sun? 




The Wren: The Sun! 




Red Drop: The blaze mounts higher. 




The hedge is on fire! 




Blue Drop: Hark fluty notes 




from a myriad throats! 




Golden Drop: The heaven aflare — 




light everywhere! 




{Bright light. All raise their anus and look upward in 


wonder.) 


The Wren: The Day, Sweetheart! 




The Dewdrops: 




The Day? 




The Wren: The Day! 




SCENE XI. THE RUBY-THROAT 





{The Dewdrops blaze out in light thrown on their tinselled 
costumes, and bcjezvcllcd little persons.) 

Dewdrops: Glad amber, soft turkis, 
shy amethyst, 
gay emerald, clear topaz, — 
tho' daughters of mist; 

Brave diamond, bold ruby 

in radiant array, 
we thank thee, and worship 

bright Sun-lord of Day! 

{Ruby-throat enters from R. He flits in and out among the 
Dewdrops.) 

Ruby-Throat: As I hum and boom 
from bloom to bloom, 
still poised in air for greedy bliss, 
the wind of my wings 
a panic flings 
'mong the dewy-clustered clematis. 

73 



Ho! I chuckle at heart 

as the Dewdrops start; 

for the humming earth, 'mid-sky, like me, 

hangs poised at the brink 

of the Sun to drink 

his heavenly honey of glamour and glee! 

Red Drop: Lo, jack-in-the-pulpit, 

and lady-smock fine, 
Green Drop: Lo, larkspur, and foxglove, 

and frail columbine, 
Violet Drop: sweet-briar, honeysuckle, 

Canterbury bells — 
All Dewdrops: 

What form and what color! 
What sweet mingled smells! 
Blue Drop: Yet, O Sun, thou art nowise 

the King of the flowers; 
Golden Drop: An infinite Dewdrop, 

we know thou art Ours! 
All: For do we not feel thee 

updraw us to Thee? 
and couldest thou draw us 
wert Thou not as we? 
Ruby-Throat (protesting in friendly fashion to the Deivdrops, 
ivho are too much concerned with each other to heed him 
greatly) : 

I am Ruby-Throat 

the Happy; 
so my knowledge, 
it is scrappy, — 
got here a bit, 
there a bit, — 
and for better 

I don't care a bit; 
as I'm positive 

the Sun, dears, 
is a sunflower — 

or there's none, dears! 

74 



For the Sunflower 

't is who told me — 
don't be vexed, then, 

and scold me! 
I 'm a kindly 

good fellow, — 
but, you see, both — 

are yellow! 
Violet Drop (zuith a sense of impending doom) : 
We brighten, but dwindle! 

Shall this be the end? 

Red Drop: To long for each other, 
yet skyward ascend? 

Blue Drop: In the heaven, O, Sun-drop 

disperse us, and fuse 
Green Drop: the many in one, Drop, 

in thee. Lord of Dews! 

Golden Drop (with the mystic emphasis of euthanasia) : 
A vision hath come to me, 

me, dullest and lowest! 
I cried: "Be not dumb to me. 

Speak, speak, if Thou knowest! 
What meaneth the mystery? 

we brighten, we enkindle, 
to a glory, sun-glistery — 

yet minish and dwindle?" 

And the Vision — It smiled on me, 

so gentle and tender! 
"Hang lovingly, my child, on me, 

thy whole self surrender; 
and lo, thou art part of me, 

updrawn and upholden, 
in the veriest heart of me, 

azure and golden!" 

{The Dewdrops have listened in blissful elation to the vision. 
They slowly vanish, by the drop of the Tableau Curtain.) 

75 



SCENE XII. THE REQUIEM 

{The forepart of the stage is slozvly heaped with petals that fall 
as a snowstorm steadily to the end of the scene.) 

The Dewdrops (unseen) : 

Ha, we are not! 

Others be. 
But when were we 
ever we? 

And yet are we not 

at last, 
upvanished 

in the vast? 

Ha, the past is 

forgot! 
The future 

is not! 

For the Now is, 

alone! 
The Unseen! 

The Unknown! 

Oh, blessed be 

the Dew, 
born ever 

anew, 

downfallen 

to ascend: 
no beginning, 

no end! 

Soul-quiet 

in the strife! 
Death-rapture — 

and Life! 

76 



SCENE XIII. THE FAIRY QUEEN'S AFTERWORD 

(The Tableau Curtain rises, disclosing the Fairy Queen with 
Fays and Fairies C. stage. Grouped about her are all the 
Characters of the drama, tJie Dewdrops being nearest her, in 
a circle. She comes doivn stage, slozvly turning and waving 
her wand. All except the Dewdrops slowly pass out R. 
and L.) 

Fairy Queen: Be any offended 

at aught here heard? 
Our Phantasy's ended; — 
yet hearken, one word! 
(Chorus playfully hush one another, and all the characters on 
the stage.) 

Dear folk, I would win you 

this truth to believe: 
the Dewdrops are in you 
to your spirit they cleave. 

Chorus (quite drolly didactical, zvith much stress) : 
They are in you, ay, in you, 
to your spirit they cleave. 

Fairy Queen : I can see them atwinkle 

tho' you (of course) can't 
I can hear — tinkle, tinkle! 
their crystalline chaunt. 
Chorus (with motions of eager listening) : 

We can hear — tinkle, tinkle, — 
their crystalline chaunt. 

(The Dewdrops wave their arms in rhythmic motion.) 

Fairy Queen: Ho, the Dew, how it dances, 
in heart and in mind; 
in smiles and in glances, 
now unseen, now divined! 

(The Fays and Fairies follow the movements of the Queen.) 

Fairy Queen : I am old, very old, yet 
I 'm also a child ; 
for my heart is not cold yet, 
nor my spirit defiled! 

77 



If the world tho' have hurt you, 

I '11 bestead and befriend. 
See, this Pansy hath virtue 

your playthings to mend! 
(The Queen holds out the pansy for all to view and the Chorus 
mimick her motions.) 

And youth? youth? What is it? 

but the will to receive 
the day-dreams that visit 

the soul, — and, believe! 

CURTAIN. 



78 



SEWANEE LYRICS 

AND KINDRED VERSE 



THE REJECTED LOVER TO THE MOON 

Dear Moon, so white, so swift, 

that fliest from cloud to cloud 
athwart each starry rift, — 

how haughty and virgin-browed! 
There clings about thy form 

a circle of hallowed light. 
It glides, and hides the swarm 

of stars that would share thy flight. 

Dear Moon, our hearts can ache, 

or quiver with ecstasy. 
Is thine too cold to break? 

Too lonely in liberty? 
No soul thy soul hath known 

that lived to enrapture it? 
For aye alone — alone — 

athirst for the infinite? 

The sky with clouds is strewn, 

a sea with its isles asleep. 
Thou sailest fast, dear Moon, — 

thy love is across the deep! 
But one whose life is wrecked 

would rather believe thee cold, 
unloving, unloved, erect — 

a queen with her crown of gold! 



79 



"HASHISH" 

I. 

THE CHOICE 

Oh, weary of the westering sun, 

of deserts reaching far away, 
of roses that sicken one by one, 

of thorns that quicken day by day; 
may others for wealth and for honors wish; — 
I cherish the dreams of the sweet hashish! 

Methought new light shone in those eyes 
whose lovely gleams the soul entrance; 

and, making richer seas and skies 
with blisses bewitch her, glance for glance; 

may others for kisses and love-looks wish; — 

I cherish the dreams of the sweet hashish! 

They vaunt the pleasures of the cup 
wherein the purple wine is poured, — 

the spirit riseth up and up — 

God's fire in their eyes is; life hath soared 

above the blue noon of hope and wish; — 

I cherish more fondly the sweet hashish. 

Some whisper of joys that blot all care 
for them who love the Koran's lore; — 

voluptuous houris soothe them there 
where ecstasy sure is, evermore 

in the swoon undying or will and wish — 

I cherish the dreams of my sweet hashish. 

II. 

THE TRANCE 

Meseemed, as on a silken couch I lay, 

that all had melted in the far-away 

where nothing but my heart and peace were found. 

And there were perfumes drowsing all around 

in visible waves of sweetness, and there stole 

mysterious music thro' and thro' the soul, 

80 



till all was fresh and full of strength divine, 
yet soothed to calm — such ecstasy was mine! 
And as I lay I listened for those notes 
quivering with tenderness, as tho' from throats 
of nightingales among the full-leaved trees, 
warbling athwart still amethystine seas. 
And then medreamed, I was a beauteous Lake 
sparkling for glory, whose smooth ripples break 
in lines of light among the rushes dusk. 

His bosom sheen unto the sky made bare — 
He drew her downward to him debonair, 
to mirroring deeps from her aerial height 
in cloudy pure and azurous delight; 
while leaving not her heavenly home above, 
below She made him lovely with her love. 

I was that Lake and mine its joyous thrill, 

when over him in amorous self-will 

the breeze blew orient bubble and pearly spray 

to fairy foam in shimmery disarray. 

I was that Lake whereon blithe sunbeams danced 

in glassy stillness mazily entranced. 

I was that Lake, and yet — he was not I. 

Rapturous doubt! At once to live, and die: 

tho' here, yet ever vaguely otherwhere, — 

voluptuously aware and unaware. 

Thus was I wooed and cradled to and fro 

by dream-breathed beauty in listless ebb and flow: 

nebulous fancies hither drifted still, 

nowhither bound; — an inexhaustible 

river of conscious mystery and sheen, 

silvery weird and sunnily serene, — 

star-shine and lullaby and balmy bloom, 

hush, zephyrous twilight, and evasive gloom. 

And ever, all meseemed there was — was I. . . . 

even I — without, afar, — within, and nigh. — 



8i 



Lo, where my Lake among the rushes lay 
lapping along his marge, softly asway 
upon the rippling heave, methought I saw 
a golden star in snows that never thaw, 
yet ever in the brooding sunbeams shine: — 
a Lily afloat — virginity divine 
unvisited by messengers of love, 
by honey-bee or breeze. The skies above, 
the skies within the Lake, smile both on her. 
My Lily openeth and her petals stir 
as the white wings of some enamored Dove, 
and flutter till the skies below, above, 
tremble with gladness. As I gazed and gazed, 
another filmy veil of dream was raised. 
My Lily and Dove became an innocent Maid, 
in naught but heaven-lent loveliness arrayed! 
There unabashed she stood so childish-pure 
and smiled, and waded deeper, insecure, 
thrilling me with a sweet desireless joy; 
even me, the Lake, wherewith her fingers toy 
how delicately! — do I live or die? 
I am her Lake, scarce knowing I am I! 
She stoops, and lo, a Dove with rosy feet 
is flown to settle lightly as is meet 
upon her shoulder meek; and she replies 
with grateful happy radiance from dark eyes, 
caressing with flushed cheek the cooing Dove, 
till laugh the heaven below, the heaven above! 

Ill 

THE WAKING 

List! V/oe is me — 
sweet apparition stay, oh, stay, 
bathe in that lake of my dreaming soul — 
nestle dear Dove, in her bosom; — make whole 
Ye pure and gentle, or utterly slay 

the homesick and lost — woe 's me! 

Dreams! — broken dreams! 
Where now is the golden, the living Lake? 

82 



Fainter and farther away it gleams — 
melody, fragrance and quickening beams 
a mist-like slow-fading illusion, forsake 
my broken, my broken dreams! 

Why, churlish world, 
cruelly rush on the ravished brain? 
Hast thou no awe of the heart, close-furled, 
bliss-swathed — whose incense-fumes upcurled 
flung on the wind of awakening pain, 

vanish, — O hard, harsh world? 

Dreams! — dearest dreams! 
Why must ye die in a dream, less pure? 
Waking we sleep, and asleep we awake .... 
Maiden, and Dove, and opaHne Lake? — 
O would that your bliss could forever endure, 

my dearest, my dear, dear dreams! 



A FEBRUARY DAY IN TENNESSEE 

I lie among the yellow grasses, 

so tall and dry; 
and, as I lie, a cloudlet passes 

athwart the sky. 

'T is Hope alone as yet who dallies 

from dell to dell, 
and through the leafless garden-alleys 

bids the buds swell. 

But, as yon cloudlet flieth further, 

evading view, 
O where if ever, tell me, were there 

such depths of blue! 

Idly I snatch the wither'd grasses 

by handful sheaves, 
and twist them into arching masses 

with shaggy eaves, 

83 



and lo! a gothic baptistery: 

four arches keen 
of sunny gold, and with the very 

blue sky between! 

And so, I fall a-dreaming sweetly 

of One — God knows . . . 
(how should I name her indiscreetly — 

my dev/y rose?) 

Here have we been betroth'd and married, 

and fast v/e fly 
on wings of skyey genii carried, — 

glad She and I. 

Whither? Who asks in such still weather 

if East or West? 
So, Darling, we but fare together, 

all ways be best! 

What? but a day-dream? O dear grasses,— 

alone, unwed? 
I scan each cloudlet as it passes 

high overhead . . . 

bound for Love's mystical far Thule, 

do they not seem? 
O might I evermore — but truly 

dream this one dream! 



A RESPITE 



Laughing I lay on a Summer's day, 

bedded in blossoming grass; 
and little, little did I think of Her! 

Love is not all of life — ^alas! 

'Would that it were, 

'Would that it were! 



Oh! that we could be but understood; 

bees must their honey amass 
when skies are blue and grasses lightly stir. 

Love is not all of life — alas! 

'Would that it were, 

'Would that it were! 

Selfish the soul that from love-dreams stole, 

watching the gay breeze pass 
o'er ferns and flowers, but Oh! all things aver; 

Love is not all of life — alas! 

'Would that it were, 

'Would that it were! 



IN VAIN 



A passer-by, a passer-by, 

only a passer-by! 
And I hoped to have thee always nigh, 
to hear thee bid me live or die 
for thee, for thee — but what was I? 

Only a passer-by. 

An idle dream, an idle dream, 
only an idle dream! 
For we meet to part, and when we seem 
just near enough to kiss, the stream 
will sweep us on, from dream to dream — 
Only an idle dream! 

O bitterness of bitterness, 

bitterest " bitterness ! 
That the heart should spend its tenderness, 
and bless a heart that cannot bless, 
and waste away, yet love no less — 

Bitterest bitterness! 



85 



CHERRY BLOOM 

See! see the cherry-blossoms, spring's bee-laden snows 
a-dancing on the merry breeze, in radiant orchard rows. 

The robin, cheery red-breast, on the topmost spray, 
is piping to the clear blue skies the rapture of the day. 

The stream is trilling, grass-bound, filled full of silver showers, 
impatient for the crocuses and summer's fragrant hours. 

What soul is there could foster thoughts of sullen gloom 
amid such joyous loveliness, such mirth of cherry-bloom? 

Woe's me! a little maiden — no toys upon her bed, 

her thin hands listless lying, and weary her drowsy head. 

Among her yellow curls, scarce stirring in her breath, 
shine gathered close the blossoms white, and this each blos- 
som saith: — 

" Upon thy snowy pillow, among thy yellow hair, 
for thee we 're waiting, Sister-soul, with thee our heaven 
to share. 

"Oh! tell us, Darling, longer, much longer need we stay? 
an angel brought us here to thee; come fly, come fly away!" 

And see! the blossoms flutter 'gainst the window-pane, 

and see the blessed sunbeams fall in showers of golden rain, 

and see the pale lips parted, smiling sweet in death — 
as tho' an angel kissed her mouth and kissed away her 
breath, 

and hear the cheery robin, the streamlet's lilted lay, 
and hear the wails and stifled sobs! — hush! hear a mother 
pray! 

The earth her lap prepareth, dreaming o'er the dead. 
Soon periwinkles white and blue will cover a little bed. 

86 



NOX MYSTICA 

Lo, the eager oaks their arms outfling 

and capture a nook -of the cool night sky 

wherethro' one star, like a startled thing, 
peeps at our world as the clouds flit by. 

The mocking-bird pipes thee a ditty, O star, 
and spring's little leaves, astart with delight, 

in the breeze to thy still blue home afar 
like silvery birds are straining for flight. 

Oh, our world it is lovely, and love here sweet, 
and a joy spirit-sating this day-dream to live; 

yet at times the brain throbs, and the pulses beat 
as tho' heaven had withholden some gift it would give. 

O star in beautiful peace afloat, 

happy for fulness of scintillant mirth, 
knowest thou — Thou from our passion remote — 

what magic js lacking to enhalo the earth? 

Or lacketh there naught save in me who complain, 
who have sundered my heart from the bliss of the whole, 

making 'mine' jar with 'thine,' and pleasure with pain, 
and folly with wisdom, and body with soul? 

O God, in a tract of soft still gloom 
would I might burn like that star of thine — 

filling with glory the infinite room, 

shine on forever, and shine, and shine! 

But the heart's prayer, fraught with ache of the sense, 
it is not the soul's, Lo and hark, I have sinned. 

For a mutter of thunder man knoweth not whence, 
and the terrified leaves fold them tight in the wind! 

Ah, rather than calm — for the truth would I yearn 
for the truer on and on, the sore warfare within; 

Ah, rather than joy in life's loveliness, learn 
The lore of bereavement, of sorrow for sin. 



87 



up in the cool clear sky, embrowed 

of the shivering boughs a-drip with the rain, — 
no change; but a vow of the spirit is vowed, 

and sad is the loss, and sadder the gain. 

For the mocking-bird pipeth no more as he lists, 
and the little spring leaves hang down with the wet, 

and the star — like a tear in God's eye — thro' thin mists 
it trembleth — down-trembleth, and forever hath set 



THE SOUL'S SANCTUARY 

How often from the soul 
in silent starlit meditative moments 

there wells a spring of tears, 

that murmurs in our ears, 
and brings back music, fragrance of dead years — 
Love's radiant robberies and sweet bestov/ments, 
while faintly far-off bells of memory toll! 

Then, in the twinkling net 
of silver starbeams, are our senses tangled; 

and eyes, long-dimmed for us, 

grow kindly luminous, 
and voices, silent long, sound tremulous — 
so very near us, that our spirits, jangled, 
to silver harmonies of- heaven are set. 

What then is wistful-worst 
of those scarce bearable vague recollections? 

The restless bitter thought 

of love that came to naught? 
of sympathy so needed, yet unsought, 
which we withheld? of hoarded-up affections 
that might have fed a soul and stilled its thirst? 

88 



O sacred impulses we quenched! 
Our world receives, alas, too little kindness; 

it hath such aching need, 

so few its anguish heed, 
its eyes that crave, its lips that dare not plead — 
while full of joyous haste and selfish blindness, 
the rich-in-love pass by with hands tight-clenched. 

Nay, bitterer things there be 
than sharp remorse for sympathy close-hidden! 

The thought that side by side 

we fared, yet dared to chide 
whom most we might have heartened, had our pride 
been of our better spirit to sweetness chidden; 
and gone are they, and sadly wistful we! 

Our lives re-echo still 
to mourners' footsteps and to prayers ungranted. 

Their altars — dark and cold! 

Light-up sweet words untold, 
kind deeds foregone, till the very dome of gold 
glistens with stars, and the soul that sore hath panted 
for hymns and service holy, have her fill! 



UNDER THE STARS 

Tell us, tell us, we beseech you 

do You love us still? 
Earth's mad cry, — speak, can it reach you 

on heaven's shining hill? 

O the Stars, lights of your city 
burning in your streets, — 

tell us. Friends, for old love's pity 
if love's heart yet beats. 

89 



Far forever must we linger, 

hopelessly alone? 
Point our way with spirit-finger 

to your Land unknown! 

" Not the old familiar places 

haunt we still for you; 
Not in far-ofF starry spaces 

build we mansions new, 

" Now, ah, now we see and hear you, 

feel your joy and pain; 
long to comfort, yearn to cheer you, 

counsel and sustain. 

" You it is who will not see us, 

will not hear and touch; 
still withdraw and fear and flee us — 

lest we love too much? 

" Deep within you blooms the garden 

guirt of rivers four; 
Strength and Troth and Faith and Pardon, 

brimming evermore. 

" Lo, the Tree of Life fast-rooting 

in the midst thereof, — 
myriad-budding, myriad-fruiting, 

miracles of Love. 

" Pomp of wealth, and proud achievement, 

fame vainglorious — 
none hath solace for bereavement. 

Come within, — to Us!" 

Tho' the stars, O dear Departed, 

twinkle and believe. . . . 
We alas, — dull, heavy-hearted — 

doubt, and yearn, and grieve. 

go 



LOVE IN HEAVEN 

My God, my God, what shall I say of Thee, 
•who madest man a marvel to himself? 
Dumb, shall he gaze forever in Thy face 
transfixed with wonderment and love of Thee? 
Death into life — Thy smile is life and heaven! 
Hate into love — Thy light obliterates all 
that grows not infinite, divine and pure! 
My God, my God, let me be always dumb! 

Yet such annihilation is not meant 
to be the close of this poor passion-hymn. 
Thou wilt have service of us while we live 
as well as worship, so we dare not die. 
Somehow Thy love will temper for us then 
the inconceivable splendor of Thy brow, 
and soothe us with increasing sight of Thee 
as holier we grow, and liker Thine. 

Heaven is not meant to be the grave of man; 

his love, if worthy of divine recall, 

shall bloom once more, when he shall find sweet truth 

in all the irrecoverable dreams 

oi time, but every one transfigured, raised 

on higher throne, shot through and through with light. 

O God, let earth for me be what Thou wilt, 

more than I lose I find again in Thee! 

Here thwarted, there consoled; here grieved to death, 

there flooded vdth delirious holy joy; 

here parted from the things we cherish most, 

there welded into one with what we love; 

eternal Selfhood, everlasting God! 

unbounded Passion, rich unhindered Rest! 

O Earth, I take thee! Heaven at length will come, 

and She I lose be found more fair in God! 



91 



SONG AND COUNTERSONG 

" When Love hath patted us by" 

I. 

SONG 

The cornflowers thro' the wheat 

beam sky-blue, and the poppies burn 

in crimson joy; at every step we meet 

some winsome petall'd friend from whom we learn 

how fresh is life, and sweet! 

Wherefore — the deeper sigh, 

if Love, alas! if Love have passed us by! 

Our life is not in vain? 

The firmament hath stars for all 

that flicker on; and every soul is fain 

to know his own and scan them, lest they fall? 

But pain, unmeasured pain 

in tears may blot the sky 

for some, alas! if Love have passed them by! 

No good can life bequeathe; — < 

beauty abideth with the dead, 

and falsehood maketh thick the air we breathe. 

True hearts will not be lightly comforted! 

Beneath the flowers, beneath 

is rest! Who would not die 

if Love, alas, if Love had passed him by? 



IL 

COUNTERSONG 

The world is hard and heartless, 

blind to the pure and good? 

Its lusts unsated ever, 

we drudges given for wage no thing we would? 

And so for hopeless hope we sigh? . . . 

93 



And yet, ah, yet 

why should one vainly fret, 

aspire to aught, or aught of ill regret, 

if he no angel of light have met — 

if Love have passed him by? 

Youth's ardent hopes extinguished, 

ideals thrust aside — 

marshalled in futile battle, 

our faith down-cast, laid low our noble pride,- 

that we may meekly learn to die? 

And yet, ah, yet 

Despair may strength beget; 

angelic sword in hand, our face We set 

against the dragon's guile and threat — 

if Love have passed us by — 

if Love have passed us by! 



SYMPATHETIC MUSIC 

Breath-seizing, irresistible delight! 

O Singer sweet and pure, 
beneath the dartling stars thy magic might 

who could for long endure? 

Those tensest strings to skill'd white fingers yield 

their plaintive spirit-wails, 
till half our sorest sorrowing is healed, 

wafted to Dreamland vales: 

trippings of children's rosy feet, light, gay, 

down silver stairs of sound; 
sobbings of love, unanswered, far away, 

of yearning heavenward bound; 

dark reachings for a music still more sweet, 

with aching heart astrain; , 
delicious dyings at beloved feet — 

intensest, dearest pain; 

93 



soft, soul-seducing harmonies that make 

delirious fancies come, 
and, ere their azure-winged flight they take, 

with bliss the heart benumb; — 

Oh! I have listen'd till the Past hath seem'd 

chang'd in all bitter things; 
till in the bitterness of bliss I dream'd 

that love no sorrow brings. 

Then notes fell thick in pearly rain, like tears, 

and lay like gracious dew 
Among the thirsting flow'rs — thought dead 
long years — 

and lo! they bloom'd anew! 



DIRGE 

<From "Love Conqaereth") 

Drift, drift away — 

none knoweth v«^hither bound. 
Thy hand upon the river lay, 

sweet Love, and stay its sound. 
The water-lilies sleep, 

the meadows dream, 
the silver willows weep 

beside the stream — 
past, past the steeple in the twilight gray — 

drift, drift away! 

Flow, flow along, 

thou deepening River, go 

in silent majesty, thy song 
sung under breath and slow. 

The shores fast widen, fade, 
and leave Thee free; 

into the night flow unafraid, 
into the sea — 
far, far, to where the waves are long and strong- 
flow, flow along! 

94 



CALLED FROM THE SHEEP-COTES 

Love? I know him with his golden curls, 

and his lustrous diadem of light 
circling brows that glow, like some pure girl's, 

with a purity all white. 

Simple his garb, though knowing God's great choice, 
serious ways that speak of high desires, 

eyes uplifted, fervid tones of voice 
sweeter than his quivering lyre's. 

Shall I trust him when some later day, 
sceptered, seated on his splendid throne 

crowned a King — to be unchanged for aye, 
just the same my soul hath known? 

Will he then be generous and true, 
still have eyes as mild and clear as now, 

hand as gentle, firm, and open too, 
when the crown hath bound his brow? 

Ask not! Place in faith the precious crown — 

place it proudly on his sacred head. 
Having worn it, could he cast it down? 

Leave his throne — through mire to tread? 



PALMISTRY 



Little hand, let me look at its lines — 
I can read it, I know, to-day. 

Let me hold it: too brightly it shines, 
I must read it some other way. 

Let me rivet it tightly to mine — 

't is the same that last night I kissed. 

Let them lie in your lap. I '11 divine 
palm to palm, thus, and wrist to wrist. 

95 



V/hat I learn? I can't tell you. Your eyes 
but repeat what the pulse just said: — 

I have learn'd all I want, and am wise, — 
and none shall know what I 've read. 



NOCTURNE 



Evening hath come, mystery-fraught, 
stilling the feverous pulses of thought. 
Darling, I pray — often thou cheatest 

Time of his minutes that silently fly — 
sing me a song, sing me thy sweetest! 

hearts will ache they know not why — 

ache — I know not why. 

Life is a void, lonely and black; 
lasts but a moment the meteor's track; 
all that we do, all that we suffer, 

lost in the gloom of a desolate sky! 
But for thy songs seas had been rougher — 

sing then. Darling; sing, nor sigh 

seeing daylight die! 

Visions of strength, visions of peace, 
visions of love when our sorrow shall cease; 
visions of faith, visions of splendor, 

all, indistinct, in the twilight flit by. 
Give me thy hand, gentle and tender; 

Darling, sing! . . ..They all draw nigh — 

sing, and heaven is nigh! 



TWIN DEWDROPS 

Twin rose-buds, side by side, 

on each a ruby drop afire. 
Longing for love in one to glide, 

poor dewdrops! Who will bring them nigher? 

96 



Between, a chasm how deep! 

The spears of grass below, how far! 
Nay, can they risk the awful leap? 

Befriend them, breeze! take star to star! 

Alas, no wind v/ill blow, 

no help can come, — and love is pain! 
Forth, must they, passion-burning, throw 

their shivered light of love in vain? 

Too rich to prize each gem, 

(His sun looks down with greedy heat — ) 
hath God then need to pity them? 

No more athwart the gap they greet. 

Dear vanished drops of dew! . . . 

What say ye? Have ye met, and kissed? 
Ah! death at last united you; 

God gathering botli in one v/hite mist? 



FROST-WORK 



'T was a chill, chill night, and my Love slept fast, 

on her warm, soft couch asleep — 
and a lovelorn glance at her bedside cast, 

I did steal tiptoe to peep 
thro' the moonlit window with woodbine hung, 

which in spring blooms rich, but now 
with its close-twin'd twigs, that their fretwork flung 

on the panes, seem'd sad, somehow. 

It was still. Th' tree-tops in their ice-mail shone, 

and the ground crispt hard and keen, 
and the stars got cold as the hours crept on, 

and the tired moon drows'd between 
indistinct blue hills. So I pray'd friend Frost, 

as my soul breath'd warm good-bys, 
for my own sweet Love, who in sleep lay lost, 

to record Love's hallowed sighs. 

97 



Then I stole forth sure that she soon must know 

how I watcht all night anear — 
nor disturb'd glad dreams as the moon set slow, 

and the stars droopt 'reft of cheer. 
Ere the day dawn'd fully a sunbeam sought 

from her eyelids sleep to shame — 
for the hoar panes glister'd where Frost's skill wrought 

in a fern-frond wreath my name! 



AFTER TEARS 



When the rain-drops shiver in tree-tops high, 
and glisten and twinkle, now crimson, now gold; 

and the green grass glows as a star-strown sky, 
whose webs are heavy with wealth untold; 

with a glad quick chirp, or a sweet long cheep, 
when birds have begun to flutter and hop; 

and the bright twigs, startled from day-dreams deep, 
in panic sudden, their treasures drop; 

when at wayward intervals clear loud notes 
go cleaving with gladness the hush of the air; 

when, the rent clouds drifted away, earth floats 
in sight of heaven — bid good-by to Care! 

We will fling wide windows and doors — ask in 
the breeze that is longing to visit us. Dear; 

and the sweetheart blossoms that fain would win 
(your honeysuckles) a welcome here! 

Let us lean close, Darling! Let cheek touch cheek, 
let hand be in hand as though never to part. 

Let us breathe life's fulness — and no word speak — 
just feel Love knitting us heart to heart! 



98 



A SEWANEE IDYL 

Warm shone the sun. Airs rare and rich 
to drink in deep, blew free and fresh; 
for earth and sky did June bewitch, 
bewildering spirit and flesh. 

Like dawn-flushed clouds the azaleas rose: 
like snowdrifts banked — their blossom-mounds. 
What hum and drone and flutter and doze 
and flurry of elfin rounds! 

And all about, on tiptoe, stood 
(unwitting lovers to espy) 
wee blithesome gossips of the wood — 
peaked ear and eager eye. 

Winsome, tho' unabashed and pert, 
some wagged, some winked, some nimbly leapt 
o'er the curtseying grass when the sunbright skirt 
foreby them breezily swept. 

The path its golden miles unwound, 
till sudden, — the rocky mountain-edge! 
A spring quick-pattered, valley-bound, 
from ferny ledge to ledge. 

And far to plainward long they gazed 
on checkered greens and browns forth-spread 
to where bloom-ridges violet-hazed, 
but never word they said. 

And lo, beneath them, fathoms down, 
there circled dots of living light 
atwinkle now o'er green and brown, 
now blurring out of sight. 

They watched those happy whirling folk 
in skies below their heavenlier earth, 
till silence in light laughter broke 
for happy-hearted mirth. 

99 

L Of C. 



Oh, blessed long-gone summer days — 
alone together — the quiver and hush 
of noon — the wistful warm delays — 
the thrill of hermit-thrush — 

intimate converse, soul and soul, — 
marvel of meanings yet unguessed, . . 
and unawares her shy hand stole 
in his for breathless rest! 

Close mystic look, all-hallowed touch, 
and love's transfiguring first kiss, — 
Ah, who may tell the tale of such 
eternities of bliss? 

Again and yet again they go 
that self-same bloomy woodland way, 
nor ever end shall either know 
of that high holiday. 



REPARTEE IN THE PARK 

" Brush the cobwebs from my brain? ' 
No sir, thank you, no sir! 
They would rouse far less disdain 
dared you scan them closer. 

See, the cobwebs on the grass? — 
th' mossy cherub statue, 
dewdrop-laden, as you pass 
dartling starrily at you? 

So the cobwebs in my brain 
sparks of fancy spatter. — 
What tho' wagtails waggle inane? 
What tho' magpies chatter? 

Cobwebs too be spun to snare 
gnats that plague and pester? 
Nay, Sir Schoolman, you we 'd spare. 
Ho for the May-queen's jester! 



FIVE SONGS FROM "SIGURD" 

I. 

SIGURD'S PLEDGE 

Up-leapeth the heart's desire 
to westward, to seaward: 

O Maid of the wavering fire, 
to restward, to thee- ward! 

To the bliss of love's infinite pain, 
the anguish oblivion assuageth not,- 

to the dregs the mystical wine 
I drain, — 

ever-living, human, divine 

glorious woman that ageth not! 

For of love is my heart fulfilled, 
and to westward, to seaward, 

fain would I fare forth, Brynhild, 
to restward, to thee-ward! 



II. 

GRIMHILD'S ENCHANTMENT OF SIGURD 

Out of the dark 
climbeth the sun. 
Hark, hark, 
the night is done. 
High leaps the lark, 
and the heaven is won. 

In the sweet-breathed mom 

be flowers bedewed. 

Love is reborn; 

Hope is renewed, 

and the soul hath foresworn 

her solitude. 

lOI 



Who draweth near 
for passion and mirth? 
Shamefast her cheer, 
and winsome her worth? 
Behold she is here — 
mere maiden of earth. 

The spell is broke. 

Thy woe hath fled. 

And joy I invoke 

on thy hallowed head. 

Awake, as awoke 

the day from the dead! 



III. 

THE SPELL SONG BY BRYNHILD'S HOLD 

Hand in hand, 
eye in eye, 
together we stand 
to live and to die. 

Heart in heart, 
soul in soul, — 
weld part to part 
in the holier whole! 

Gunnar the swart, — 
Sigurd the golden, — 
to further or thwart 
close-enfolden and holden. 

Far, waxeth to nigh; 
wont, waneth to strange. 
I am thou, thou art I 
in the awe of the change. 



IV. 

THE BALDUR DIRGE 

Ah, the sweet young death — 

tear-dewed as the rose, 
yea, and fragrant of fame his wafted breath, 

whiles the cool wind blows. 

Seven days, seven nights 

hath Baldur the Beautiful slept; 
but none was found v/ho hath power, woe 's me, 
to awake him! 

Seven days, seven nights 

a grievous watch we have kept. 
Who in earth, who in heaven hath heart, — 
so fair, — to forsake him? 

Seven days, seven nights 

have the Gods in Godhome wept, 
or ere to the bale fire, with Nanda, his love, 
they take him. 

Ha, the broad, the free flare 

of the dawn glov/-barred ! 
Boughs leap to the light in the song-thrilled air. 

Is Death cruel and hard? 

V. 

GUDRUN'S BLOOD-WITE 

Hath Brynhild ravished my place 

in the bale-fire's flames? 
Yet 't is I, even I, Gudrun shall efface 

in blood our shames. 

Lo, and hark! A Hunnish hall — 

and for help men cry; 
the walls thereof bow them, the gables down fall, 

and in anguish — ye die! 

103 



The Niblung house, and the hoard, 

our Kingfolk, and land: — 
ashes and smoke before Sigurd my lord 

for the bale-fire's brand! 

Thine heart for naught didst thou pierce! 

Shall He love thee the more — 
or the storm that roareth pitiless, fierce, 

with welter of gore? 



RIME OF THE WICKED BIRDS IN JUNE 

My heart is light 

with the joy of June, 

light with the hopes of the morning. 
Bright 

was the night, 
' and gay 

the day. 
So, comrades dear, take warning! 

Slowly swells the mermaid-song, 

languid movement, rich delight, — 

grace and glory glide along, 

rainbow-beauty, softly bright. 
Ho! for a toss of the bacchant's locks! 

arm in arm, and the dance-wave rocks: 
soul with soul, we defy earth's sway — 

a wing-beat strong 

ere we float along 

o'er waves that play 

in golden day — 
smile meets smile, while I (and She) 

caught in a world of mermaid glee, 

free on the rhythm to far realms flee, 

where the spirit would stay 

for aye! 

104 



Then, the dance was over, friends, 

A gurgle of laughter breathless — 

the sweetest of hours too early ends, 

but the joy of the soul is deathless! 
We slipped together 

out of the hall, 

and no one missed us 

in the chatter of all. 
Through aisles of elms 

to silvery realms 

that melted in heavenly vistas, 

on, on we roamed 

through the gloom of the trees, 

where the fountain foamed 

like magical seas 

in the crystalline glare of the moon; 
the fiowers about us, fresh and sweet, 

(expressly come 

to be witnesses dumb 

of human bliss complete) 

nodded, I think, 

and dared to wink. 
Yet there we rested, 

laughed and jested, 

hoped that "the day would n't dawn too soon," 

peered at the "queer dear face of the moon," 

heard the fountain's tinkle and sputter, 

heard the leaves in the full breeze flutter; 

till cool, and scent, and young life's merriment 

beguiled us to venture an odd experiment: 
hand in hand, before we knew, — 

lips found lips, though none had taught us. 

Who was there but the moon to view 

how Love in his sweet snare caught us? 

A foot-step fell! 
we rose in terror. 
'Twas nobody. Well? 
An evident error. 

105 



Ashamed of what? 

'T was Love's own plot. 

Yet, mutely went we back, 

the sky o'er-clouded, sullen and black. 
And she left me alone 

at the door of the hall; 

with a cousin I hated 

she flitted away, 

away in the fated 

crazed swirl of the fray. 
Yes, left me alone 

at the door of the hall! 

not a look to atone 

for desertion; 

no call that was audible, 

beck that was visible! 
Motives, no doubt, if you heard her version, 

maidenly motives most laudable — 

but oh, my heart's plight 

on that mad June night 

seemed bitterly, bitterly risible! 

But my moonlight queen — 

was not 

forgot. 
What was it, oh, what 

that had slipped between? 
One kiss — the first 

from the lips of a girl 

that I got by theft not right — 

was that what had curst 

our poem of pearl, 
eclipsing its silver- white light? 

At length we met — 
became good friends; 
but no word of our night of June 
as yet — 

io6 



though who could believe 

a soul might forget 

that fountain's tinkle, that "queer dear moon"? 
believe that love thus ends 

mere "friends"? 

that Love can perish so soon? 

One day we strolled, a year from then 

in the woods together, 

dreamy again, 

as still as the warm-cool weather. 
The friars 

of the wood's 

imp-brotherhoods, 

they stung me like briers 

those gnomes of the woods; 
till I fervently prayed 

as we " gaed and gaed " 

that her thoughts might be gone too far 

to take note of the scoff 

of the gnomes that would doff 

their caps where the mad bells are; 
how my blood danced, tingled 

as their foolscaps jingled, 

lest such mock-bows all might mar! 

— " You will make my proud queen blush, 

O gnomes! 

Away, hide, hush 

in your bowery homes!" 
In vain, in vain I cried 

and sighed. 

— " You see?" — " You see?" — from the woods 
it came. 

— "Who?" — "Who?" — in a quavering tone replied. 

— " She 's fooling you!" — " She 's fooling you!" 

My hot heart burst aflame. 
—"Too pure!"— "Too demure!" 

— "Who? Will she be your . . . 

" Your own, own Sweet?" 

107 



My agony grew. 
— " She fooling you!" 

— " Who?"— " Who?" they repeat: 

— " She fooling you!" 

—"Too true!" 

they whistled, 

—"Too true!" 

— " We too!" 
A pause! ... I stole 

a look at her face, 

and saw her soul 

with its angel grace. 
— " Oh, will she be yours — 

your own, own Sweet?" 

— " Oh, will she be yours " — 

that catch they repeat. 
For my soul "too pure" — 

yet who could endure 

such agony longer 

or stronger? 
So I fell at her feet — 

cried: — "Will . . . will you be 

my own, own queen forever?" 
— " You see?"—" You see?" 

From the woodland green 

how they mocked m5' cramped endeavor! 

Yet the rest 

were best 

hushed tight 

for aye; 
since my heart is light 

with the joy of June, 

light with the bliss of living! 
Bright 

is the night, 

and gay 

the day. 

io8 



And my heart 

to the gnomes 

of woodland homes 
in part 

I '11 say, 

is forgiving! 



MOLLY, MAY, AND DOLLY UP THE GLEN 

I. 

Titter, 

tinkle 
down in a dusky cleft. 

Glitter, 

twinkle. 
Shiver and sprinkle 

diamond spray 

to right or left 

on the wind away 
careless of loan and theft; 
on flowers that assemble 

for a chance 

to dance 

near the edges; 
on fern-fronds that tremble 

all day 

in dismay 

as they peep 

down deep 

steep 
slippery vertiginous ledges. 

IL 

Now come, 

be dumb. 
Lie still in that pool 
clear, quiet, and cool, 
under arches of mountain laurel; 

log 



for each bloom is a bell 
oddly stiff, without smell, 
but of beautiful white or pink coral. 



III. 

Little Pool, 
you 're coquettish 
and prettily pettish, 

freckled 
with blotches of golden sun, 

speckled 
with bloomdust, foamy with fun. 

Are you vain, 

little Pool, 
of your primness? 

Explain, 

little fool, 

without playmate 

how came it 
you hid, little Pool, 

in the cool, 

little fool, 

in the cool, 

little Pool, 
and the dimness? 

For who '11, 

little Pool, 

say who '11, 

little fool, 
in this lonely glen 

ever find you, 
or when 
he has found you out, mind you 

and find you 
again? 

in the cool, 

little Pool, 



in the cool, 
little fool, 
in the cool, 
little Pool, 
and the dimness? 



IV. 



Wrinkled 
with worry? 
for whom, say whom? 
The wind, in a flurry 
was rough, 
in a huff, 
and sprinkled 
your lap full of bloom? 
The bushes were shaken, 
the blossoms fell, — 
and the wind has taken 

a rude farewell? 
Yes, the wind was rough, 
in a pet, and a huff, 
so 
he shook 
down 
the blossoms, and look! 

Down, 
away goes a fleet 

of blossomy ships, 
that circle and meet 
as the current slips; 
Ho! 
that 's 
where the gnats 
go 
cruising. 
'T is Xerxes again 
his millions of men 
on the coasts of Attica losing! 



O the jolly 
holi- 
day! 
Madcap Molly, 
Dolly, 
and May, 
have completely forgot you 

already 
for the blossoms that dot you 
and eddy, 
little Pool, 
in your waters cool. 
I 've an inkling — 

unafraid, 
in a twinkling, 
they '11 wade 
and spatter 
the spray 
in their eyes; 
and the fleet . 

of bloom 
will retreat, 
and make room, — 
nay, 
scatter 
pell- 
mell 
if wise. 

VI. 

Not 
a moment to lose. 
Dresses tucked 
up, 
and shoes 

112 



on the spot 

unlaced, 
stockings stripped 
in hot 
haste, 
willy- 
nilly, 
O me! 
Courage plucked 
up, 
and dipped 
are four sweet 
little feet, 
slap-dash 
with a splash 
in your waters clear, chilly, 
to ankle and knee. 

See . . . 
The ships one and all 
wheel away 
in the spray, 
where the fleet 
of their foes 
they meet 
(who knows?) 
or are wrecked 
I expect, 
at the fall. 



VII. 

Under the laurel 

sits 

Dolly— 
stiflF, prim, 
at the sparkling water's brink: 
" It can't be moral, 

it's 

folly, 



"3 



mad 
whim, 
bad 
form to wade, I think 
in a pool that 's freckled 
with blotches 
of sun, 
speckled 
with bloomdust and foamy with fun." 
So, under the laurel 

Dolly 
watches and watches 
(while blossom-rains reckless 
make her a necklace 
of white and pink 
coral) 
and Molly 
she watches, 
and May she watches, 
do — things that should never be done. 

VIII. 

On my word! 
There 's a bird 
comes hop-hop to her side: — 
" I 'm eager, dear Madam, 

to win me a bride, 
as all men since Adam 
of spirit and pride. 
It surely won't hurt, 
while May 
and Molly 
wade 
for us two to flirt 
in the gay 
laurel-shade. 
You are pretty. 
Miss Dolly, — 

114 



I 'm witty 
and pert: 
so a marriage, I think, 

might be made. 
Water 's my drink. 
I dare 
to assert 
I am sober, fair- 
minded and staid. 
As I live, 
I can't give 
you. Miss Dolly, a ring; 
but you know 
I 'm a beau, 
and just hear how I sing. 
I 'm a catch — 
for I snatch 
with my beautiful bill 
a worm! 
(See him squirm.) 
Come, Miss Doll, say 'I will,' 
then I '11 build you a nest 
of the neatest and best, 
and of worms I shall see that you have 
your sweet fill." 

She is playing. Aunt Bess, 
so 
I know 
She'll say "Yes!!!" 
I guess 
she 
is willing. 
Sir 
Robin is wooing. 

(Don't stir.) 
They are billing, — 

"5 



see, 

billing 
and "cooing. 



Ha, ha, but it *s only the dream 
Dolly dreamed in the laurel-shade. 

And she 's waked by a laughter scream 
of Molly — poor lonely old maid! 

IX. 
" O dear 
little Pool, 
in the glen 
clear, 
cool — 
O when 
shall we 

see 
you again? 
Freckled 
with blotches of golden sun, 

speckled 
with bloomdust, foamy with fun. 
You 've made us so jolly," 
cry gay 
May 
and Molly. 
*' We 're ever so glad that we 've met you. 
But who '11, 
Uttle Pool, 
say who '11, 
little fool, 
v/ith blossoming laurels around you, 
O who '11, 
little Pool, 
who '11, who '11, 
Httle fool, 
forget you 
who once has found you?" 

ii6 



" No, we '11 never, never forget you. 
We are ever so happy we met you. 
We 've had 

a good time 
and will end 

this Rime ... 
O the bad 
wind, Miss Doll, to upset you! 
But he did n't intend, 
you know, to offend — 
nor even to tease you or fret you. 
And we both have to thank 
you because on the bank 
you watched our stockings and shoes. 
But you 're crosser and stiffer 
than Aunt, when we differ 
from some of her "proper views." 
So Miss Dolly Dot 
from France, 
we daren't coax or pet you; 
and you 're not 
quite 
polite 
to refuse 

thus 

to excuse 

us — 

seeing only by chance 

'tis we've wet you! 



117 



HIGH IN THE COLORADO ROCKIES 

A PHANTASY 

" Alas, the fancy cannot cheat so well, 
As she is famed to do, deceiving Elf I" — Keats. 

THE MOUNTAIN PARK 

Ha! the little aspenwood 
twinkling, merrily twinkling 

in the golden sun; 
with never a wiseacre inkling 

there 's aught in the world to be done: 
for life — 't is so blessedly good 
to a gleeful little aspenwood 
twinkling, twinkling. 

Ha! the madcap mountain brook 
flashing, splashing uproarious 

under blue spruce and pine; — 
Forever the sun, victorious, 

changeth water to sparkling wine; 
so he drinketh in a dewy nook 
of his own changed self, the brook, 
drunken-glorious. . . . 

Ha! the peaks of jagged rocks 
skirted with granite drapery 

of the landslide red, 
scaled by the agile and tapery 
forest which knoweth no dread 
of th' tempest's glary locks 
that enmantle the sunsmit rocks 
with splendors vapory! 

11. 

THE CABIN 

And near the little aspenwood atwinkle, atwinkle 
under the beetling crags, 
by the brook with its hurdygurdy roars, its 
sturdy, wordy brags, 

ii8 



its harmonic tinkle-tinkle 
where it boisterously lags: 

What clumps of the columbine, 

scores and scores, — 

each a stately fairy grove; 

their fivefold horns of plenty, fashioned fine, 

white 

and mauve; 

(Bells to peal the froUc pieties 

of sunbright butterflies in bridal flight 

to a dizzy azure height.) 

What fragrant cyclamen, in moist societies 

mossy-shod, purplish-crimson, 

the water, aswirl, spray-spattering over-brims on! 

What hosts cerulean of the penstemon arrayed 

from the ruddy roots of the defiant 

giant 

pine, 

up the slope in sun and shade; — 

like a tract of clear noonsky it is, 

reflected in a cool 

grass-bordered pool. 

What strawberry bloom hoar-frosts the ground, 

to stretch the laggard limbs on, 

while the soul reposes 

in the balmy heat, 

day-dreaming out an aerial Shelleyan song, 

a sensuous Keatsian ode. 
What bearberry bushes blossom-snowed; — 
and everywhere brier roses, 
heavenly-sweet, 
brier-roses, brier-roses! 

And near the little aspenwood atwinkle, atwinkle 

under the beetling crags, 

by the brook with its hurdygurdy roars, its 

sturdy wordy brags, 
its harmonic tinkle-tinkle 
where it boisterously lags: 

119 



nestled in the coziest 

of dingles, 

where roses be the rosiest, 

jaunty with green-stained shingles, 

perks alone 

the log cabin; its chimney of rude stone 

since day 

broke, 

bannered gay 

with turquoise smoke. 

Yet, not alone, for the cows 

with steaming muzzles, leisurely stray, 

the while they browse 

and look wise 

as their world-old wont and use is; 

and the crested mountain-jay, 

a sapphire flash, screeching flies 

to the twilight silver spruces; 

and the rabble, 

gobble-gabble 

of the 'pies, 

"The top of the morning" come officious 

to wish us! 

And the wrens, wee but bold, 

on the eaves 

(their sunrise song half sung, 

anxious for their young) 

at the chattering, 

clattering 

thieves 

scold and scold; 

till the cow that never worries 

never hurries, 

hooks the pasture gate wide open, 

shaking loud her brazen bell, 

and the speckled woodchuck pert 

inquisitive, alert, 

panic-stricken, hurries, scurries. 



his hermit cell 
to mope in, 
for a spell — 
till all be well! 

And near the little aspenwood atwinkle, atwinkle 

under the beetling crags 

by the brook with its hurdygurdy roars, its 

sturdy wordy brags, 
its harmonic tinkle-tinkle 
where it boisterously lags: 

Lo and hark, 
free from care and cark 
the Children (invisible child- 
wings 
outspread 
for flight, 
like forest-bred 
bright 
wild 
things 

f rollicking, rollicking!) 
make-believe a gracious queen and jolly 

king 
hold revels, 

whereto all airfolk be bidden 
who fight red bogymen and green-eyed devils, 
(in bogs, 
like frogs, 
in hollow logs, 
in valley-fogs 
hidden). 
And the airy 

reel they clasp and gasp in 
among the aspen, 
(fact and whimsical fancy jumbled) 
on scary 
nightmares is ridden: 



wayward drollery 

gay cajolery, 

laughter outcries, dafter shrieks, 

dancing eyes and flushed cheeks, 

amber curls in the wind tumbled; 

the while, upon the porch reclined, 

their Mother lounges, heart and mind 

in that far-off land 

ever nigh at hand, 

where friendly sprites 

in sunbow vesture, 

warble and flute your 

blessed future, 

with mimic gesture 

and rare delights 

for spirit-eye and mystic touch. 

But the children, their orgy ended — 

(Ah, she loves them so proudly much!) 

have flown past her, 

(fast and faster 

the hill ascended), 

pine and blue-spruce cones to gather; 

till, their useful ardor spent, 

they '11 wade 

in sun and shade, 

and the pool's cold 

crystalline surface over sand and pebble stones, 

kick to yeasty sheeny lather; 

and with handfuls of fool's gold — 

their pretended 

rage to vent — 

pelt whatever rogue is 

of the bogies 

gruff enough to scowl and growl; — 

the while their Mother dreams, dreams — 

smiles and beams, 

proudly, happily, blessedly content. 



III. 

SCHERZO 

Ah, my Goddess, lounge and dream 
beautiful, endued 
with dignity and peace supreme, 
in thy vasty solitude, 

for I am soon, so soon, so soon 
to be with thee; — and live 
that hundredth blessed honeymoon 
the fates have sworn to give. 



Thou art as Isis veiled to all — 
save one, miles, miles away. 
Canst thou not. Goddess, hear him call? 
Wilt answer if he pray? 

Black wondrous eyes, remotely ashine, 
reach to her worshippers. 
Hands clasped beneath her head, are mine, 
though ever divinely hers. 

Lips vaguely smile, and dare demand 
if tired I wax of life; 
of life with her — you understand — 
a Goddess for a wife! 



O little twinkling aspenwood, 

foot me a frantic fling, 

to the brook's handclapping, be so good, 

a swirling emerald ring! 

And you, big, rhythmic spruces, hop, 
wave fringed sleeves in time, 
mock-ceremonious curtsies drop, 
and the rocks like wild goats climb! 

123 



Hail down your cones, you bellowing pines, 
your scraggly noddles wag, — 
jerks, quirks, ventriloquous groans and whines, 
in a Bacchic game of tag! 

For she, our Goddess, asks — she, She 
of the compelling eyes, — 
if weary of life with her we be — 
with her — and archly sighs! 

Hark, the cowbell 'tis the tuning-fork; 
and cheerily the sky splits 
from San Francisco to New York 
in outrageous laughter fits. 

With pyrotechnical display 
the cloud-devils kick their heels, 
and the mountains echo monstrously 
panic. Titanic peals! 

For we be weary of life, alas, 

and chiefly of life with her; 

to a better world we fain would pass; — 

so, there (as here) she were! 



IV. 

BY THE BROOK 

Today in your broidery, beautiful witch, 
take not a cunning amorous stitch. 

No broken needle, no tangled thread; 

no poem or novel this noon may be read. 

Away with the Brownings and Merediths! 
not Morris, even, glad maker of myths. 

Whitman and Ibsen their say have said, 
and, like naughty children, are sent off to bed. 

124 



Down, down, to the brawly brook, methinks, 
'twere pleasant to stroll o'er the briery links. 

The sweetness of scent, the soft underfoot, 
each flowery patch in his own place put 

for the dearest joy of the passing eye — 
Down, down to the brook and ask not why, 

where the silvery blue-spruces of violet shade 
have for You a moss-paved privacy made. 

Those superfluous garments (be sure, no loss) 
will be stealthily laid on the velvety moss. 

And lo! a holier power you wield 

as in womanly grace you stand revealed. 

The wind, loose masses of auburn hair 
about your bosom will playfully flare. 

Apocalypse rare — beheld of none 

but you — and the seer — and the hallowing sun! 



V. 

THE CURTAIN FALLS 

Ah, you fade 

faint, far, 

even as I look 

into the night; — 

only the evening star 

sullenly smoulders, 

grim, half-extinct, 

upon the gruesome, fell, 

uncanny lake, 

where the murk waves break. 

Lonely, afraid — 
where are 
the brawly brook, 
the aspen light, 

125 



with many a battle-scar 

the battered boulders, 

the spruces close enlinked, — 

and the Dian of the spell, 

for whose dear sake 

my senses and spirit ache? 

VI. 

"SO LONGl" 

Hallucination? 

Solitude, 

ah, utter, utter . . . 

Two thousand miles divide us; 

and weeks, weeks, weeks 

to yawn in, dawdle and foolishly yearn, 

and of hope and fancy and guess 

run daily the maudlin gamut. ... 

Come, resignation! 

Fortitude! 

Why murmur? mutter? 

The fates do not deride us; 

for the bland Stoic speaks 

of discipline, lessons to learn, 

perfection . . . yet, nevertheless 

in very sincerity — damn it! 



IMPROMPTU 



To common Seekers — nothing but a drop 
of water, shaken on a clover's head 

of purple bloom, near which the sparrows hop 
in glee that they are feather'd well, and fed; 

to Roamers, there, at loving distance — stop! — 
a tear of heaven, a star of holy dread — 
And yet, the best is never seen, or said. 

126 



THE BOOK 



SYMBOLIC ODES 



" For whatever man doth long envisage 
he transfigureth to human semblance, 
hearkeneth oracles of his destiny 
in river and wind and sea." 

" Man is still in his childhood. 

He has to imagine what the angels would say, so that his own 
good impulses (which create those angels) may gain authority. 

His moral life, to take shape at all, must appear to him in 
fantastic symbols." Santyana: Life of Reason. 

FOREWORD 

Day by day I ask my question — 

in every glance of my eyes it is; — 

but never the Answer — no suggestion 

of the mystery to me of mysteries. 
You stars, you would tell me I am star? 

and you trees, — that I am tree? 

you clouds, — that I am all you are? 

you seas, — that I am sea? 

you mountain peaks, — that I am high? 

you flats, — that I am low? 

you sunny sky, — that such am I? 

But still my soul saith " No!" 

Alone at length my Self I face: 
— " None knoweth but thou. Speak out!" 
— " I am all that is. I am time and space, 
thy faith I am — and thy doubt! 

Tho' I am that I am; 'twere truer 
to say that — I am not yet: 
the wooed, the wooing, the wooer — 
creditor, debtor and debt. 

127 



" If still thou list to ask, 

know, thine Answerer shall be dumb; 

for, no word is his word, but a task — 

a beauty thyself must become. 
Yea, to know — is to be; — and alone 

in being, must wisdom be sought. 

What thou art — no more, may be known; 

and the more? — thou shalt be, — or, is nought!" 



THE LION 

(An incident of the Zoological Garden of Cincinnati) 

There, on the floor of thy cage 
Thou liest, O Lion, 
stretched out, indifferent! 

Vast head, with weight of portentous mane- 
a tangle as of autumn forests 
where the horror of jaws 
lurks in ambush; 
compact muscular legs, 
armed with death, 

in which the lightning of the fatal leap, 
the crack, the crash of the fall, 
the rending of flesh yet alive, 
slumber unquietly; 
tail with suppressed lash 

involuntarily vibrant; 
through eyes half-shut 

with cunning show of drowsiness 
the yellow flash, keen, 
like broken glitter in the moon-glare 
of little pools of steaming blood; — 
All, all betrays 

subtly the soul of terror. 

What outrage to have caged Thee! 
Yet, in thy bars take comfort. 
Proffers of freedom were insult — 
scorn of the harmless, the impotent: 

128 



Men dread Thee! 

But Thou — carest not if they quake, 
requirest no flattery of fears, 
sure of thy formidable strength, — 
indifferent, 
grand. 

Ah, wherefore do we stop 

in front of thy cage 

bound by an evil spell? 
Why this shudder at times 

not of dread — this sense 

of oppression, difficult breath, 

unaccountable? 
Whence this ache 

of self-pity intense as we look 

at Thee, fierce Brute, 

caged Fiend of the wilderness, 

at Thee? 



Terrible! magnificent! 

That leap, shaking the iron bars — 
as reeds once by shrunk streams 

where thy tongue of fire 

lapped the cool; 
the quick snakes of thy mane 

erect, rigid, 

quivering with wild might, 

at the eruption of a roar, — 

like fire volcanic 

from bottomless deeps of fury 

inflaming the sky, 

charring the fruitful earth. 

What is it 

captive monster, 

late so majestic, composed, 

scornfully indolent? 

129 



A cub — set loose 

for sport of children — 

a cub, astonished, stares 

in front of thy cage, 

by neat-trimmed shrubbery — 

free? 

Who shall utter, O Lion, 
thy stupor, agony, rage? 
One of thy kind— a cub — free? 
What? — The wilderness nigh? 

This fetid cage of shame — hallucination? 
Dens full of half-tame skulking beasts, 

howls, whines, snarls of feeding time — 

an obsession? 
The day's peering merrymakers, 

(cowards who inspect with prudent insolence,)- 

and the prowl that ends where it began 

in the close stench of the walled night — 

a hideous obstinate nightmare? 
Ah, 't is the Wilderness hath roused her to battle- 
hath conquered civilization, 

at a bound come hither 

to rescue her caged King? 
Iron bars only — between Him and — 

not freedom — 

but Her? 
The hot day's sleep, the night's fierce hunt, 

the fight to the death with rivals 

for the lioness, sleek, awaiting the issue 

with treacherous fawn, and leers 

of savage pleasure? 
Only these bars — between Him, and — 

not freedom — 

but life?— Life? 



Magnificent Captive, 
Disdainer of liberty, 
do I not understand Thee? 

130 



Am not I, too, caged? 

Laws, customs, courtesies, proprieties! 
I too — remember. 

Not liberty, oh, not liberty now! 
Why break through bars? 
Prolonged despair hath cowed us both, 
and the tyranny of use. 
What? Wreck our cage? 

Where then would our Wilderness be? 
The torrid sun, 

the fever? 
Hunger for palpitant flesh, 

thirst for hot blood? 
The icy night, 

the blinding moon in the clear, 
the shadows black of rock and tree? 
The prey terrified, 

the joy of his agony? 
The antagonist's prowl, roar, ramp? 

The ache, the bliss of omnipotent fierce life? 

Only a minute the spell hath lasted — 
best, O Lion, we both were patient, 
spiritless, sleepy — sane! 
May be, may be — 

(the thought of it starts 
a shudder like death's 
clotting the heart's blood). 
May be, may be — (who knows?) 
only the semblance is left us 
of fire 
as of sunsets 

that flare in the heavens, 
but singe not a stubble straw 
of the western hills. 
May be — were the Wilderness here indeed, 
thou, O Lion, and I — 
even Thou, and I 
were wanting. 

131 



THE OLD HEMLOCK 
I. 

Stout-hearted, great Hemlock, wast thou 
foolhardy to plant thee on crags thus, 
waterworn, naked — 

tusks of some monstrous 

jaw from the deep tarn jutting; — 
no soil save mould of thine own shed spines, 
amassed in the snaky folds of thy huge 
roots, that to clamp thee steadfast 
the splintering rock enwrap. 
So soon as I saw, uncouth 

black Giant, I loved thee; and oft 
couched me solitary 
dream whispers to overhear 
of thy stalwart soul — but in vain. 
Dragon-flies quick, emerald-glinting, 

through swarms iridescent of dance-whirled gnats, 
darted; or, sparkles of turkis fire, 
settled gauze-winged on the moist stone a moment 
in a fleck of sunny sheen. 
From the dense 
laurel-thicket the titmouse 
furtively flitted, seeking the green 
gloom of thy shade, perched him to pipe 
twitter and trill tenderly soft 
songs of thy praise, meant for no ear 
but thine! 
Or, perchance, as I waited 
unseen, the fox-squirrels 
inquisitive, mischievous, sprightly, 
peered from their holes, cheeped, chirruped, 
fretted, flurried, whisked-up their tails, 
flirted from bough-end to bough-end, 
scampering, scolding, scurrying, 
in a dare-devil game of catch. 
But ever, though affably tolerant, nay 
gracious. Thou stoodest, thy spirit 
methinks abode far 

132 



alone, aloof, aloft, 
rapt in the beauty stern, inexorable, everlasting, true 

of the positive world; 
thy bliss 

too real, intense, 

for frivolous dance, 

frolic and song, or worship devout 

in irreverent foolish words. 

II. 

Stark gnarly branches, 
spotted with lichen hoar, and shag- 
bearded, already thy spirelike 
symmetry mar; 
but old age 

fondly of the past reminiscent, 
dotingly garrulous, yet 
for many a year 
will not touch thy spirit; 
then, oh, 

of friendship wilt thou not 
tell one who loveth thee, 
whether, 

when at first from a cleft 
in thy rock (than the cool 
mosses that slipper thy feet, scarce 
bolder of growth) thou didst peep 
curiously skyward; 
and after, 
when the froward chokeberry bushes 
that jostled and pressed thee, 
proudly thou couldst 
overpeer at length and outreach; 
Whether, dear Tree, 

in the drowsy noon-sun thou never, 
didst day-dream, foolishly day-dream 
of stretching, a benison mute, 
thy hundred long-sleeved arms patriarchal, solemn, 
over the tarn as now — 
warden august of its peace? 

133 



For, irresistibly, hither 

happy day-dreamers are drawn 
to sit them down and muse, 
in fancied fellowship close with thee, 
of possible things that will not, 
of things impossible 
that must come, surely, to pass. 

III. 

Howbeit, — taciturn Sage, 
noble, austere, — 

the subtle fragrance inspiring 
of thy forest-breath sweet; 
Do not deep impulses stir in us 
strangely, disrupting the arid 
crust of our work-a-day self? 
Resolutions spontaneously 
well up, abundant and pure, 
to refresh it and deck it v/ith verdure 
of hope? 
And trust (like thine own, 

sublime) in the universe, soar 
overhead — a vast sky? 
Our life-love, 
ardent, out of darkness and cold 
burst ablaze — 
sunlike its azure 
ascending? 
And our baser desires shoot 
upward till, scintillant points, 
they dartle on our dark 
hours of bewilderment 
spiritual rays 

heavenly impersonal, starry remote? 
For lo! a Symbol, a Glyph of a lore 
Thou art, which our spirit 
unwittingly spells: 
how Might, 

Self-lordship, Soul-greatness, 

are got of a wilful stand, reckless, unshaken, 

134 



in hard barren places; 
Ay, are got of savage war waged — 

brute man with stubborn things 

and forces undying and tireless — overcome 

to renew, (fierce, treacherous, 

cruel,) the strife; 
are got of uprearing sore-battered 

a crest, defiant to blast 

and bolt, — 
no fate dreaded but shame of cowering, 

doubt of the glory, and cavil 

at the absolute right of the Order 

eternal; 
are got of outspreading magnanimous arms abroad 

to shelter, benign, 

all that is guileless and true, 

lovely and glad; 
are got, O venerable Tree, 

of fixedly viewing as thou, (undaunted, though awed,) 

yon infinite expanse (terrific to puny 

folk centered in self, and vain) 

which floateth ever forever 

unconscious, calm, beautiful, holy, 

a myriad, myriad suns! 
Which, beholding long, thou hast meted 

justly thy height — found it naught, 

yet much; 
and foreknowing thy natural doom 

art complacent; 
too honest to feign 

craven and false comforts; 
nor minded, 

having taken to withhold; out of pride — 
eager to give and forgive! 

IV. 

Wherefore in vision prophetic Thou viewest, 
(storm felled, or thy grasp on the rock 
age-loosened) fallen, — idly float — 

135 



root-moored or wind-drifted — Thyself: — 
fostering, feeding 

with thy hardily-wrought fibre of life 
mosses and ferns, orchids and grass, 
parnassia with cups white and green 
quaint-carven of five petals; 
yea, chokeberry shrubs, 

thy earliest foes; honey-flowering 
azaleas, glossy-leaved laurels, rhododendrons 
tortuous-wooded, pompous-blooming ; 
impartially kind to whate'er 
Faith sowed or wind's Whim 
to sprout, shoot, bud, and fruit, 
on Thee, their rich isle of the Blessed; 
with forbearance high-hearted, abiding 
patient the day, 
when .... water-soaked wholly 
in the long years, slow 
down Thou wilt sink — 
blissfully down — 
to delicious oblivion 

at last; 
deep in the cool depths of the tarn, 
which all thy life through thou didst love, 
heroic, godlike Tree! 



THE RIME OF THE TARN 



Darling little Tarn, with the dark woods girt, 
high up the steep old mount, 
solitary, kithless; winsome, waggish, pert; 
for thy bonny tricksy air 

Where's the moralist would dare 
give account? 

Since thou never didest act 
altruistic, 

136 



and thy nature ne'er was rackt 

with regrets, or passions mystic; 
unworried by the woes 

of the world, 
lying cuddled up and curl'd 

blithe, jocose, 
without faith or fealty, quite 

unaware of wrong and right; — 
Nay, so frivolous and gay 

as to dance all day, 

yea, 

and the whole night thro' 

too; — 
For, whoso will may hark, 

and, envying, hear thee mark 

with lapping lightsome laughters 

mad-cap time; 
ignorant of bygones, incurious of hereafters, 
in wily happy innocence sublime! 

II. 

Darling little Tarn in the forested wilds, 
assuredly thy heart is a child's, a child's — 
irresponsible and vital, — 
giving, when it gives, 
without reck of requital; 
taking, while it lives, 

what it wants. 
Yea, free as the breeze's, 
its favors and its taunts; 
it teases 

whom it pleases, 
whom it likes, heart-whole, 
will caress and cajole. 
Yet when hath it behaved 
in thought, in word, 
in deed 

(though all theories were waived 
of morals bad and good) 

137 



otherwise — 

than as a tarn under deep blue skies 
midmost of a dense old wood 
should? 

III. 

Is thy virtue unpretentious, 
be thy principles less strict, 
because thou wast not e'er licentious 
nor by tempter's logic trickt? 
And therefore seest no merit, eh, 
in reasonless austerity? 

But if any have good right 
to preach and proselyte, 
if any might convert 
bad sinners and worse saints 
from wicked ways they're us'd to, 
it is Thou, little Tarn, brisk, nimble and alert, 
who, requiring no restraints, 
mightst commend them sans suspicion, 
shouldst thou choose to. 
Ah, thou dost not, wilt not heed, 
thy "serious call" and mission, 
nor the world's bewildering need 
of some brand-new creed. 
Thou art, dear Tarn, thou "art," 
and lo, it sufficeth thee; 
let Such as "have been" moralize, 
or Such as are "yet to be!" 
Then, oh, if mortals could but master 
the mystery, little Tarn, of thy moods! 

For the noblest, — courageous in achievement, 
bereavement, 
disaster, — 
lose buoyance 
of soul, 
self-control, 

at the daily-hatch'd broods 
of annoyance; 

138 



the fret 

vexation, 

irritation, 

petty trifles beget! 
And methinks, — as I see thee lie 
rippling, 

contentedly tippling 
(as tho' a flood 

sunkisst 

thy supply 

to renew) 
the dew 

of the morning mist 
on leaftip condensed, 

on spine, grass-spear, frond, berry and bud- 
thy complacence 
comes of doing none obeisance, 
beholden 
unto none, 
not even the golden 
Sun! 
For, Thou askest no brook 

to come yodling and whooping 

and cheer thee, 

or drooping 

uprear thee; 
no rillet in ferny nook, 

(pretty lisper,) 

to whisper 

soft names that endear thee, 

go tickling 

the mosses, run trickling 

to clear thee. 
And when storm-racks rain-sagging 

scowling, bullying, bragging 

roar 

o'er 

the lowlands that flatten 

on the weather god's favor to fatten; 

139 



thou flauntest thy blossomy rich array 
near to the mountain's top 
with a dainty insolent witchery, 
unwilling to beg thee a drop! 

And why? In the deeps of Thee well-up 
bubbly springs of perennial jollity; 
whereat, on the sly, thou quaffest, 
winkest 

saucily, thinkest 
some naughty thought, blinkest 
and then — 
laughest, and drinkest 
again! 

Howbeit, when in winter the summit 

savage cloud-hordes envelop — 
dost thou sing it, or hum it 

thy tune of delight, 
in defiance 

of the Giants 

and their ice-hearted might? 

Nay! No swaggerer, churlish brawler, — 
thou 'rt no blusterer, and bawler; 
but seemlier far, 

with the better part of valor — discretion — 
thou meetest 
and defeatest 
oppression! 

For so soon as ruffian winds come forth 
of the North 

wielding the sleet-lash to scar, 
driving flurries 

before them of snows — 
(worries 
and woes 
to provoke thee 
willy-nilly 
and choke thee) 
little Tarn, still stilly 
a smooth shiny sheet 
140 



thou dost over thee draw 
from sweet head to sweet feet: 
and whilst rifled 

of its leaves, 
stifled 

in drifts, 
the from forest aches, 
heaves, 

griev^es, and uplifts 
its arms, with cruel icicles weighted, 
to the hated 

North-demons for ruth; 
How the robins and I do wish us 
with Thee in thine inviolate dream-Eden, 
where the Tree-of-life grows 
for fanqies to rest 
and nest, 

sing, feed and breed in; 
and the Fount of youth 
inexhaustible flows 
in four rivers of crystalline cheer! 
But lo! When the spring-sun breaks 
thro' the welkin, and warm winds thaw 
about thee the missiles malicious 
of the storm and the gale, — 
my wise Tarn 'wakes 

in good sooth; 
and waters Thou hast to avail 
for the year, 

got without money or price 
from thy jolly fool's-paradise! 
Surely thy doctrine with tact is 
taught by thy practice: — 
in days of dearth 
self-supplied 
Bride 

of mirth; — 
in days of distress, 
hid away in the deep 
blessed recesses of sleep! 

141 



IV. 

No marvel the oaks, stout blast-fighters, — mail-clad 

trunk, limb, bough, in lichen; the stark black birches 

waving delicate fresh volumes of greenery; 
the chestnuts rough-barkt, bluff and burly 

up-thrusters 

in yellow-green clusters 

of burs; the hemlocks, late and early 

on guard o'er the gracious scenery, 

grim, glum, sullen, surly, — 

yet kind 

to the wintering birds, who find, 

in their spiny dark, safe homes; 
the service-trees scrubby and gaunt 

that dangle, 

begrudged, their few pitiful pomes 

under foliage bluish, wizen and scant; 
the rhododendrons whose firm gneirly wood, 

aslant 

in snaky tangle, 

shows how arduous (tho* they rant 

not, nor wrangle 

as we), 

even 'mong tree-folk and shrub-folk the search is 

for Light — 
each with his bad 

and his good, 

his record of wrong and of right — 
come marshall'd in deep ranks close-serried 

to take solace in Thee, the Light-hearted, 

the glad! 

V. 

No marvel the jaunty-fronded rowan, 
bronze-berried 

at first, then aflash 

with sumptuous carmine, 

which, prodigal, he tosses 

to the winds with a fling and a dash; 

142 



the hobble-bush lusty, astrain to display 
his flame-color'd drupes 
in rivalry futile; the slender 
merry „ 

wild-cherry, 

his spring-radiance departed, 
retaining yet a tender 
subtle grace of his own; 

the marrish-maple, whose mere poise, airy, 
unwary, 

there's charm in, 
and comeliness, dancing alway, 
impatient to don frory 
glory; 

the highland-holly, that to-waterward stoops 

and a covert overbow'rs 

with lucent ruby fruit 

bejewel'd; the laurel, wayward, rash 

that leaps from his root 

whilst, in lieu of his long-shed waxen flow'rs, 

every leaf of him agloss is 

with sallies of sunshine; the modest azalea, 

unqueen'd for the season, to the sorrow of mid- June 

having cast off too soon 

her orange, or white-and-rosy regalia; 
the green-brier belated, and inquisitive to boot, 

that in prickly- 

tickly 

festoon 

o'er his fellows goes tumbling pell- 
mell; 
No marvel at all if they throng 
at thy marges, 
each pressing his suit 
for one boon: — 

a first and a last sight of Thee 
who art free, 

gay 

as they: 

143 



who grantest great largess, 

yet makest no debtors 

(since to all, what is thine doth belong) 
allowing no inferiors, no betters, — 

preferring not these unto those 

in thy childish millennial polity; 
because ever a jest 

sets the worst and the best 

at one in the throes • 

of true jollity! 

VI. 

No marvel, dear Tarn, thou canst cause 
the dead trees on thy surface afloat 

to nourish 

such wild-flowers as flourish 

not elsewhere so fair or so dense — 
(frolic mummers 

in the summer's 

lush pageant, to thy playful applause 

enacted,) — for note: — 
the neighborly masses 

of bugle-weed shaking their knots 

of silvery bloom-dots 

on the least little breezy pretense; 
and the zephyrous tassel'd swamp-grasses, 

and fretted ferns in narrow room shut, 
" whom the rank rabbit-root, (adept 

in rudeness,) with his new-got black berry astrut, 

tries to jostle; 
that droll tiny fellow 

(dwarf of St. John's-wort yclept) 

who, to honor his namesake apostle, 

starrily decks 

his crown with wee specks 

golden-yellow; 

and greenwood orchis with dare-devil air, 

and highborn parnassia of her style half aware; 

144 



O, how in thy waggish society 
stern 
Death, 

dear Tarn, doth learn 
to laugh at himself under breath 
in a cantless, new, beautiful piety, 
even gruesome, cross, scarecrow old Death! 

VII. 

No wonder if the Sun from his high 
sky- 
mansion, sends rays of his fire 
white-hot, to drench 
them, and quench 
their thirst, with thy stored 
hoard 
of purity, 
cool I 

No wonder the Moon should draw 
mistily nigh 

wistfully nigher, 
when scarce-fledged lovers feel 

at thought of their blissful futurity 

(sweet fool with sweet fool) 

on thy bosom together, strange awe 

as Thou dancest thine elvish reel: 
diamond sparkle, 

quick glint, phosphorescent 

quicker 

flicker, 

iridescent 

opal shimmer, 
quiescent, 

deliquescent 

dim, dimmer 

gleam and glimmer — 

and darkle! 
No wonder the Stars as they peep 
through the cirrous dome 

145 



from the deep 

of infinite space, 

their home, 
fondle thy fresh still face 

without wrinkle, 

and mirror in Thee their heavenly twinkle; 
No wonder the Thunder-fiend perched on the peak 
howling, 

growling 

to wreak 

his pent might, 
flings a steely white lightning to smite thee 

and affright thee, 
and roars out for boyish delight 

at the blinding blaze 

of thy swift indignant amaze, 

his vicious ill-humor quite 

gone. 
No marvel that the Dawn 
ere the least 

first streak 

in the East, 

that betokens earth's yearning, 

broadens, corruscates and flares — 
(the path of the Sun-lord's returning 

to strew opulently with auroral 

floral 

splendors,) 
ay, no marvel that the Dawn 
doth lavish alone on thee 

her first faint most orient hues 
to enkindle the haze 

of thy grays, 
or thy satiny blues 

to suffuse, — 
hallowing thee unawares 

frivolous tho' thou be, 
Thee, little Tarn in the mountainous wild, — 
that dost make thee Olympian mirth 
of men's notions of fitness 

146 



and worth, 

immortal sure Witness 
to the truth 
and the youth 
of the earth; 
thy soul unafraid, 

undefiled, — 
forever a Maid 

unfading, unplight — 
forever and aye 
at play, 
an innocent Child, 
and a sprite! 



THE DEFILED MOUNTAIN TORRENT 

I. 

Cloudily wing'd, forest-man'd, side by side 

o'er the green-and-yellow checker of tillage 
alluvial, and the hummocky fallows copse-mottled, asprawl 
in the sun and abask, — unwieldily 
approximating their contorted ridg'd bulk, — 
in the shelter of their scarpt flanks 
the Mountains 
a seclusion inviolable create 
for some blessed cool Glen to lurk in, 
from the rays of torrid noons fended, 
and the irruption of hurricanes 
malign. 

Some Rivulet, indubitably, in his infantile 
innocence disporteth him, rollicking 
from clear pool to clear pool; 
and gleesomely 
loitering in his eddies 
he chuckles to himself at the play 
of the silver-sheeny trout, rosy-speckled. 

147 



And, oh, 

'twixt these imminent declivities 

with underbrush bristling, by the rank 

lush verdure close-thatcht, 
what abode 

for the bob-white dainty-stepping, and the grouse 

bronze-rufft, with fife and with drum, 

to foregather and revel it in security, 

life-lusty; 
and here, too, timorous fugitive, 

can the cotton-tail claim sanctUeU^y, 

and the hazards forgetting of existence one instant 

frisk wantonly, or nibble at ease. 

For with what bountiful supply 
doth not hospitably the Glen her visitors entertain; 
herbs aromatic, spicy-nutrient roots, 
and berries in succulent luscious plenty 
divers-flavor'd, sweet and tart, to each taste! 

ii. 

On, on will I hasten, yet discreetly 

sure-footed, and circumspect, that, by the timidest 
denizen undetected, 
I may penetrate into the privacies 
sacred erstwhile 

to the horn'd and hoof'd goat-thighed God Pan; 
and, (tho' it was rumor'd 
that from earth He be departed, 
to reside in the Olympus snow-capt 
of Mythology, scared by the scowl of lean-featur'd 
Science) devoutly, his blithe choristers, 
of manifold wild minstrelsy, 
will, I hope, have outstayed him: — 
first and foremost, the wee wood-sprite, shy and saucy— 

thro' the bracken aflit, or dartling 

some mossy-carpeted log along — 

the winsome v/inter-wren. O might I but surprise him 

at his hj^er-riotous up-bubble of mirth! 

148 



Or if not him, then, eavesdropping, 

the dusky-green vireo overhear, 

as solitary he setteth him to rebuke 

with a vivacious virile vocalism the querulously 

iterant soft plaint of the peewee, 

perverse shadovi^-haunter, in woodland mazes sun-proof; 
or, (oh, supreme unanticipated delight!) 
transfixt with a thrill of surprise — 
stand and hearken (as if pain, age and death 
concern'd us not ever) the hymn 
of love's true-mated hermit — th' tiny thrush: 
a peace superlunary, archangelical, divine, 
into melody molten, cool, diaphanous, 
soul-uplifting to a jubilant content. 



III. 

O pugnacious spiky locusts, cross brambles, 
briers choleric and churlish, wicked virulent 
nettles, coarse tight-tangling grasses, — 
less obstreperously might ye I believe 
withstand one that forward thro' your thickest 
presseth with no malevolent intent; 
for soonest exultingly my heart beats 

when nigh me some relative of mine — queer, canny 

fifth cousin, say, or sixth — unconstrain'd 

in bush, brake, water, air, 

I may watch at his frolicsome gambols, 

or the serious avocations of his life. 
Never fancied I 

glory could be gotten in the slaughter 

of a terrorized brother, outwitted, 

worsted in a conflict unscrupulously unequal. 

Come, come, 
be ye civil to a friend who hath given you 
the password, and we will let bygones be bygones, 
my irascible stout fellows, as I slip me 
quietly atiptoe thro' your belligerent throng motley. 

149 



For I swear 

O outposts over-zealous of the Glen, 

unharmed, nay, unthreaten'd, shall they be 
all my kindred, feathery, furry, or finn'd — 

the lords hereditary of your fortified 

recesses. 

IV. 

What? Hist! On the wind- 
is it a cry? Nay, a brawl rather and a bellow, 

a roar — a thunder-burst of waters! 
The Glen 

I foreknew (from excessive sun-ardors by hemlocks 

umbrageous, and adventurous birches 

leafily screen'd) ; 
ay, the Glen meandering 

scathless and free among huge 
crags by some cataclysmical upheaval of the earth 
asunder-cloven, wrencht, shatter'd, jamm'd 
in ages prehuman: — 
cliff-walls 
whose least ledges cracks and crevices by rash ferns, 
vertiginously aquiver, are tenanted, — 
or by shrubbery gorgeous-blooming, 
and by intricate viney entanglements 
precipitately down-tumbling, that athwart 
the chasm green arms wavy and hands 
amicable, extended to one another in impetuous 
felicitations, at the faintest whiff of air, 
almost touch; 
O, the Glen 

so bewilderingly beautiful, labyrinthine, sequester'd, 

(strange, strange!) is not the happy 

channel, as I imagin'd it, of a brooklet splash-plashing 

bubble-babble, sing-song, in excess — 

aspatter and aspirtle — of delighted limpidity; 
but instead — 

a rocky-barr'd keep, subterranean 

kennel, for some Leviathan terrific — 

150 



dementedly pounding in self-annihilatory desperation, 
up-panting a convulsive dank blast 
demoniacal, to set the vasty scar-fastnesses 
ashudder from the bottom to the top! 



Best-lov'd, first-Begotten of the sky, 
foster-child of the mountain, 
what is it with impunity doth afflict thee? 
Thee, who the very hemlocks wouldst — enormous, 
majestical, — deracinate in a trice 
and voluminously overwhelm them, 
resisted they thy thoroughfaring; 
O Thou 
who the rugged adamantine granite grindest 
with the pulses of thine onslaught spasmatic 
and the unintermittent wash swift 
of multitudinous swirling waters; 
O Thou, 
tho' utterly thou scornest to be commiserated — 
speak, speak! 
For, notwithstanding 
thou tossest yonder downfallen giant bole 
sore-batter'd of a sycamore, 
frivolously, as a mere fiocculent 
scum-raglet; and, at his antics uncouth 
(when frantical, for some stay, clutching, he writhes, 
lurches and lumbers down thy rapids) inebriate 
with wrath, dost into laughter vindictive 
break hideously; — 
Nevertheless yet 
there abideth in the occult deeps of man 
a spirit that, insurgent, mightily to thee-ward 
yearneth. 
Then, oh, utter 

I supplicate, nay adjure thee, thine innermost 
rancor incommunicable! 
For wrong'd, wrong'd, 

yea, wrong'd art Thou if aright 

151 



the tremulous overtone I interpret, and the mutterings- 

unpremeditated, inadvertent, mysterious, 

abysmical — that perturb 

with a panic the hearer; 
those wails, sobs 

pitifully human, half-supprest, yet thro' the din 

audible in a ghostly suspiration, 
as Thou rumblest, 

and from rock-level to rock-level 

down precipice after precipice 

crashest in cataracts horrisonous, suicidal, 

lacerating thee to grisly froth-shreds, 
and soul-seething. Thou hissest and up-spewest 

haggard, awful, 

an insensate contempt of Thyself! 



VI. 

Behold, for a space farther forth 

the ravine wide-yawns and admitteth 
the sun to irradiate thee with diamantine 
splashes of living splendor. 
Quick thither 

am I wending through close-twisting masses 

of blossomy laurel, over root-claspt rocks, 

moist and slippery, about trunks 

of hemlocks colossal, and there, 

quieted for an instant, may thine ire 

get articulate expression. 
What meaneth it? 

Speak! Assuredly, — an ocular illusion? in the shine 

thy swollen floods effervescent whirl 

golden, and regurgitate bronze-umbery, 

russet-shimmering in the distance? 
Too well 
have I understood thee now. Thee 
and thy dire speech — O Thou, 
who hadst dedicated thy Self — 
to maintain thee unpolluted the purity, of thy origin, 

152 



and the rivers, whereunto thou shalt be tributary, 

so much as in thee lieth with thy crystalline 

onrush to clarify, 
and the ocean's 

brackish wallow and welter, if it were possible, 

to sweeten with thy savor 

of sky — 
O Thou, Thou even. Thou also hast altogether forfeited 
thy hyaline pellucidity, befoul'd — 
turbid, yea, maculate! maculate! 
And as a nightmare again 

horrifies, remember'd, 
lo, the Mill 

that bestrode thee intercurrent 

between slopes once thick-wooded — where before me 

it squats, as when I quicken'd my pace 

endeavoring not to see or hear aught: — 
the loathsome canker-Monster omnivorously 

ravening into the sacred dense evergreen gloom. 
And mine ears, in despite of me, the shrill 

shrieks of the steam-whistle affray; and the screech 

and the howl of the rotatory saws terminating 

in a raucous death-rattle and fierce 

rasp; and the wheezy respiration of the engines 

rust-pockt; and the clatter interminable 

of shingles and plank. 
What scragg'd piles 

of stript tanbark beatle and totter akimbo! What mounds 

funereal of sallow saw-dust, wind-fretted, thy gorge 

choke-up, and throttle to strangulation! 
Obsess'd am I by the groans of timber-loaded 

wanes, lashes of the whip-thong, and the strain 

intolerable of starv'd mutilated 

brute flesh — blood, sweat, obscene jest 

and profanity! 
O Brother, spare me thy reproach, for too keen 
mine abhorrence of the desecration that hath been 

committed 
by greed-craz'd human kinsfolk I disown — 
(no fellows they of mine!) 

153 



Yea, yea I saw them — 

and still see them in memory, — those archways 
gothic-pointed of laurel, demolisht by fiend-fires: 
black skeletons that convulsive coil and crook them 
in a drunken death-dance; and the soil, see, 
charr'd, to an aching waste lye-bitten, 
where it gapes sunward, ghastlily! 
And within me 

my spirit grcaneth, outrag'd 

at the fatuous devastation of the Earth — 

our long-suffering Mother — 

humiliated, sacrilegiously defil'd 

by the very children of her heaven-hallow'd womb! 

VII. 

Woe, woe is me — not unseldom, 

O Torrent of savage sorrow unassuageable, 

was I madden'd with thy phrenzy ere this — 

fanatical, at thought of the despoilers, the defiowerers, 

the devastators! Nor thou only 

hadst to suffer contamination, and of miscreants 

the cynical unconcern. 
If it listeth thee, — inveigh, 

and the turbulence of thy distress ease, 

by imprecatory bursts of vehemence — 

ineffectual, alas! 
Ejaculate, O ejaculate, 

in the paroxysms of delirium, thine anathemas; 

and I will abase me, shamefast 

in thy presence, to hearken: 

"Man, Man," 

thou criest out with voice of great grief 
unsubduable yet chasten'd, transmuted 
to rage prophetic: 

"Man, Man, 
whom for a;ons on aeons 
We of the ancienter order elemental, 
rapturously expectant, did adore; 

154 



instantaneous his insight and unerring, 

omnipotent the pressure, 

unimaginable the dexterity of his miracle-working hands; 
Man, Man, magnanimous (woe, woe!) 

we had imagin'd him, lofty-tempered: 
Mind, discerning of the Process creative 

the implicate ends; supreme 

Will, by glad godly indefatigable labors 

fashioning into a reality of unillusory 

loveliness, our vision long-worshipt 

of the world; 
Man, Man . . . 

and oh, lo! — he hath appear'd — 

and we have beholden him: no divinity 
but a Demon — tempter, torturer, corrupter — 

no law venerated that prohibiteth 

a gratification instantaneous of his glutton 

craz'd desires; — 
Man, Man — 

oppressor without scruple of the weaponless 

and confiding; 
extirpator of the formidable 

frank-hearted, noble-spirited, that stoop them not 

to be yokt and made vile; 
sparing only 

that thenceforward thy soul 

may in orgic massacres delight itself; 
vandal-violator 

of beauty wrought solemnly thro' the centuries 

and slow, for Thee, ingrate, to marvel at 

and rejoice in; 
O Man!— 

forever must thy tyranny 

be irresponsible to reason, right, ultimate 

self-interest? 
Wilt thou persist, 

in the ruin, — maniacal ravager, — of thy heritage — 

the one star of thy birthright? 
Dost thou dread not 

the degeneracy of thine imperial 

155 



breed, and at naught settest thy destiny 
of Godhood? 

No premonitory misgivings, 

ere yet it be too late, wilt thou give ear to? 

And wilt then dare in after ages, 
(Fool! Fool!) 

when self-doom'd thou art perishing, 
at the mirth-twinkling heavens to vent thee 
in maledictions preposterous, because — 

the old bosom forsooth, scarr'd, bruis'd, 
gore-bedabbled, of thy Mother 
will not foster more, and rear as of old, 
thy puUulent generations — 

the Mother 

(loving, responsive to her offspring 
until cold at the last, stark, dead), 

of Thee, slain — blind, ruthless, false Son!" 

VIII. 

Sad Misanthropist sublime, 
comfort thee, comfort thee — 
for high 
above thy final leap and lunge, 
horrific, into the chasm, 
forever vortically to engulf thee from sight 
of thyself and the dizzy-swaying sun, — 
Canst thou see not how a bare bough 
intrepidly thy spray-cloud 
overreaches, and the arching prism-splendors 
that environ and enaureole thy hoar stormy-lockt 
head calamitous? — 
Behold (if but a moment 
thou wilt allow thee to be distracted 
from thine anguish) how a Bird 
percheth him on the lichen-hair'd 

tipmost twig — 
(what, dost thou recognize not 
thy well-wisher?) brown-speckled, buff-breasted, 
rufous-green — wing and tail! 

156 



'Tis, O Joy! 
the Swamp-angel, the diminutive Throstle 
of the solitude — 
and to capture thy notice, 
thro' the vibrating azure, 
in quick loops aerial, he v/ingeth him, 
and returneth undaunted again 
his word of consolation to deliver — for see, see! — 
he warbleth now some dithyramb unimpassionately 
voluble — a paean of victory 'tis, spiritual, 
for thy hearing; 
and the strains, 
in the boom of thine uproar inaudible, 
my heart echoeth: — 

"Hark, hark, 

wert Thou still uncontaminate as erst 
(O mountain Torrent, — hearken, hearken, 

and take comfort!) — not so dazzling were 

the whiteness of thy bubbly foam; 
nor thy spray-mists, 

v/ind-agitated, were fret elusively 

with such palpitant sun-glories; 
nor overspun with vivid frostwork 

so lacily were thy cataracts, evermore 

spirting sparkles, and outfraying into traceries 

iridescent of spume; 
nor so ferocious — 

verily, verily — were 

thy denunciations hurl'd at Evil, earthshaking, 

hoarse-reverberant under hoUowed-out 

silvery-oozing and dribbling mosst scars; 
nor would gusts so irresistible set adance 

the leafage on the tree-tops, in jubilation 

that they hang beyond reach utterly 

of all soilure; 
Nor were the flaming sunflower, 

and, fragrant, the raspberries with their wild-rose bloom 

purple, and the constellated aster 

yellow-cor'd, lavender or milky petall'd, — 

157 



thus regally invested, transfigur'd 

with such crystalline, rainbow radiant array; 
Nor below, where forespent 

thou tarriest a while gasping 

for wrath-respite, and thy anarchical 

yeasty turmoil out-smoothens to an ominous 

glassy glare, — 
wouldst Thou spread 

so burnished a mirror as now 

(of thy very swarthiness clearer) 

for sun, stars, luminous clouds and the ardent 

firmamental still blue!" 



IX. 

Comfort thee, comfort thee 
implacable defil'd Torrent, 
for thy Consoler 
carolleth, still caroUeth, 

the transparency thou shalt yet achieve thee 
of thy purificatory fury 
at pollution. 
Thine, thine 

(so he singeth faith-exuberant) 
shall a virgin Immaculacy 
more miraculous than erst be; 
and brave-soul'd shalt thou bear it to the ocean — 
the vast, bitter and foul ocean, — 
that at least 

by so little it may the sweeter, 
the clearer be. 
Nor for naught 

shall thine agoniz'd mad curses 
to the welkin have forth-thunder'd. 
For there cometh, oh there cometh 
(hear, hear him at his ultimate 
fugue ecstatic!) 
the Man of thy holy hope — He 

the expected, the worshipt, the fulfiUer; — 
of his advent divine, the foreordained 

158 



times shorten'd, 

with the cry 

uninterrupted, savage, fearful, of thy desire, — 
O defil'd mountain Torrent, inspir'd 
Prophet of evil, — 
by Thee! 

THE MULE 

A SUNRISE WHIMSY 

Where spann'd the road lies 

by the massy iron bridge 

above the power-house with its perpetual 

wind-fluttered steam-banner, 
I was sauntering ere fully yet day dawned, 

listless, of protracted toil weary, 

and despairing of sleep. 
The wicked steely 

glints of oil'd machinery 

ponderous, at work 

under scrutiny persistent of electric eyes 

depending spider-like from roof-rafters, 

haunted my mind uncannily; 
till homeward I turn'd, and yonder, on the far side 

of the lower road-cut, the quarried hill, (gray, 

perpendicular, stubborn,) confronted me, crested 
with a dusky hunch, gruesome, that at times 

seem'd to waver as to outline, and stir 

in lurches erratic on the uttermost sheer edge. 
Still-standing, long fascinated, 

I gaz'd; and at length 

the dawn-gleams uncertain, reveal'd 

tugging irreverently the patient hill's scalp 

of rank weeds wiry, — 
a Mule! And I mused 

straightway of the People, uncircumspect, 

feeding ever on the verge 

of a civic abyss without light, 

nor feeling of any — great lack, 

for the tugging and the munching of the weeds! 

159 



Suddenly, as intent at the creature 

I look'd, — that had ceas'd 

in his dignity symbolic to suggest 

aught vulgar, flippant, whimsical, — 
a burst of bloody light volcanic 

(from some crater, so it seem'd, 

close behind him deep-yawning,) etch'd-out 

lean legs, downcast head, ears protuberant, 

ignominious tassel'd tail 

the flush'd sky against, that enhaloed Him! 
Wholly, however, was the Mule 

at the grotesque weird silhouetting of his form 

undismayed; and graz'd on — 

for nowise the illumination, you conceive, 

marr'd the pungency acrid 

of the weeds! 
And a laugh, bitter, unawares 

startled me (tho' my own) recalling 

how we prate — eloquently — about reform, 

progress, enlightenment (foolish 

self-deceivers!) and the sure 

holy common sense of arous'd 

public Opinion! 
But lo, 

from the body of the Mule, (as man's future 

political and social I pondered dejectedly,) 
swift rays to the zenith upflew, 

fan-like outspread; and at once 

the steam-banner, on the power-house flaunted, 

caught fire; and scurrying flufft cloudlets 

like a butterfly bevy, white-frock'd, 

of school-girls from class discipline releas'd, 

through the sky romp'd, — the fresh child's 

glow, of health in their cheeks. 
Then the sun 

red-golden up-bulged from eclipse 

behind the tassel-tail'd, droop-ear'd 

Beast of burden, and behold! 
at last — it was Day! 



1 60 



O People, is it truth, sober? — or a mere 

sanguine self-delusion of minds 

foolishly millennial, (mad theorists!)—© People 

tugging, munching the weeds unconcernedly, — 
the faith, 

that a Sun by thy ill-shap'n bulk, awkward, 

ridiculous, yet mask'd is; 
a Sun 

that even now, up-struggling to shine 

shortly shall the whole heavens enkindle 

to such blaze 

of great glory, as hitherto seer saw not 

in vision apocalyptic? 

Fool! Fool! 

to ask questions of Thee who art wont 

(not heeding star-gazers, nor prophets,) 

to tug away still, 

in the manner of thy hybrid folk 

time out of mind, 

industriously, at the scalp 

wiry-weeded of the doom'd quarry-hill! 



ODE TO MOUNT PELEE IN ERUPTION 

(Not unmindful of Walt Whitman's "Dithyrambs") 
I. 

O awful Mount, 

Long dormant, dead. 

Thy vomited midnight dark. 

Thy lurid locks of tangled lightning, 

Those miles of explosive flame that licked up the shipping in 
the bay as haywisps. 

The incandescent rivers of rock as a network enmeshing thee. 

The ocean-bed sunk, engulfing the seas, that the waters re- 
gurgitate asteam and abubble with heat. 

The blizzard of ashes, and hail of boulders, 

The devastated city of careless ease afire, 

i6i 



The crashing cathedral towers, timbers incinerated, masonry 

crumbling, metals molten. 
The great cathedral square paved with corpses so thickly 

that they surge up erect in lifelike attitudes of horror. 
Forty thousand souls, suffocated in their beds, charred in the 

open, sodden in the sizzling harbor brine. 
Governor, policeman, sailor, fishmonger, banker. 
Father and son, mother and babe at the breast, and the 

chubby little girl clutching her skirts — 
All, all, alike; 
The maniac murderer alone surviving to escape with a howl 

on the opening of his underground dungeon, and perish 

somewhere in the glare of thy demoniac eye. . . . 
Ha! do these monstrous deeds of Thine mean nought to us, 
Nought to us, O Mount Pelee? 



II. 

The reptiles — venomous vermin — had forsaken thy fissures 

and crevices. 
For they knew — 

The cattle with a revivified instinct fought for freedom, 
For they vaguely understood — 
The populace, panic stricken, prayed to be allowed to flee 

and leave their all behind in the doomed city — 
But prudent men of science, 
(As a committee,) 
Decreed there was no danger, 
So the brave governor issued orders. 
Reassured the rabble by his presence, and by the presence of 

his wife and children. 
Wherefore they whom thou didst warn v/ere cowed, were 

shamed into disobedience: 
Then couldst thou, O awful Mount — vent of the infinite 

forces of earth — restrain thee no longer. 
And thy incredible work of destruction was wrought in a 

moment, in the twinkling of an eye — 
Earthquake, darkness, hell belched forth. 
Chaos and desolation! 

162 



III. 

And men in far-off places all over the habitable globe, 

Civilized males, munching cigars in their mouths, twirling 
cigarettes, or fingering pipes. 

On the street cars, lounging in study chairs, or astride an 
office stool, or loafing in a taproom. 

Declare: "There is no God," — 

None, for God would have assuredly have hindered thee, 
O Mount! 

And some parson, supposing Augustine and Calvin in the 
divine counsels still. 

With a long countenance cries out to his smug, money-get- 
ting, pew-rent-paying congregation: 

"Behold — judgment on the unspeakable iniquities of that 
city!" 

And the Pharisee, chewing the cud in the pew, whispers to 
his heart, "Amen," and devises all the while uncon- 
sciously 

Some new penny-in-the-slot machine! 

Faugh! 

IV. 

O fools and heartless hypocrites, 

Perverters of truth, and eloquent Job's comforters unto the 
dead. 

Hearken a word in your secret ear: 

Is it not expedient once in a while that our pride should be 
checked? 

Our materialistic satisfaction with godless possessions dis- 
quieted? 

That as we pile up our Babels, sink our mile-deep mine- 
shafts, burrow our mole-tunnel under sea, cut out our 
sewer-canals of solid rock, and threaten the very home 
of the free winds with invasion, 

We be forced to recall how vast the energy of the Stillness, 

The terror of the gentle Hush, 

On which dartle the midnight stars. 

On which the flood of golden sun down-poureth. 

And the crystalline rains of spring? 

163 



Is it not well that forty thousand should perish now and then 

That the swarming Millions may hesitate a moment, and 
worship or blaspheme — 

Their little self-confident, jocose, speculative intellect con- 
founded, 

Their heart, sensual or rebellious, clutched for a second by 
the dread of the Unknown? 

Ah, was it not well? 



"Inhuman"? you shout — "inhuman"? 

Absurd nonsense, friend! 

Must we not all die, sooner or later die, 

Cowards and courageous, fools and philosophers. 

All the sons of mighty Mother Earth? 

Must not the kindest of us die, and make griefs, cares, sor- 
rows, dismays of soul, for those we love most, and cher- 
ish most tenderly? 

Would you, friend, greatly prefer to succumb, 

Properly, in your bed, to invisible hosts of bacteria? 

Have you such a passionate predilection for germs? 

Or would you choose rather, delicate friend, to be slowly 
exhausted by the labor of decent digestion — by the 
smack and non-assimilation of well-prepared victuals? 

Or have you perchance a fancy for breathing out a dozen 
centuries or so between doze and doze. 

The eyelids prudently uplifted as you peep through the 
lashes, for fear of wasted vitality? 

God! are we men? women? boys? girls? 

Or only worms, snails, jellyfish, sloths and alligators leth- 
argic with a bellyful of dog? 

VI. 

Ah, death-dealer, terrible demon — 

Monster-mouth of chaos, fire-spouter, sea-churner, uptearer 

of land and sky. 
Thou at least hast roared out an emphatic Word, 
And forty thousand souls, brave and pusillanimous alike, 

164 



With gasp, sigh, wail, howl, shriek, sob, choke, rattle, have 
uttered it with thee. 

In chorus of sublime frenzy, prayer, childlike faith or rage! 

Oh to have perished, speaking that noble Word in unison 
with Thee! 

If unable to speak it out clearly in life. 

To have whispered it dying, as one of forty thousand swal- 
lowed up quick in hell: 

"The inexhaustible universe! 

The reserve of creative energy! 

We — not the end of things! 

The power, terror, beauty, glory, sublime majesty of God!" 

VII. 

Were that so cruel, dismal, vexatious an exit for a puny little 

human babe of the All Father? 
O awful Mount, roar out again thy "No!" 
Yet, hear — in spite of Thee 
They persist in disagreeing with Us, 
Awful Mount! 

They prefer, really prefer, living on and on and dying useless! 
Being snuffed out some day insignificant, 
Being buried at the expense of a weeping and bereaved 

family — 
God help them! 

June 22. 1902. 

ODE TO PIKE'S PEAK 

THE MOUNTAIN 

I.— A 

Above the billowy waste of plain — 

the grey-green welter of grassy glare ; — 
with vivid miles of sunflowers splashed, 

or marigolds and ox-eyed daisies, 
with thistly-leaved white poppies, or starry mentzelias 

foamflecked and dappled, 
with velvety acres pearl-blue of the sage-brush 
subtly hazed; 

165 



Oh, at every season, to have explored it lovingly, 
and feel its multitudinous life of bloom 
in eye and nostril linger! 

To hear the meadow-lark, 

uphuddled on the fence-post, 
drop cheerily into the wind 

monotonous gushes of delicious melody; 
to watch the hawk at his vigilant 
slow wheel in the dazzling air; 
the prairie dogs scurrying holeward 

through their villages of sandy mounds, 
or on their haunches, like sentinels, 

in the vibrant sunheat posted whimsically; 
nevertheless from here — 

as up we climb the bastioned bluffs, 

its numerous miracles effaced from view and hearing; 
only now an infinite spread of sea 
far forth to the faint horizon-line 
dizzily aheave; . . . 
and above it, — 

never can abate 

the heart's first wonder, the mind's amazement! 
Insolent, serrated, abrupt, stupendous, 
The Mountains; 

vertically uphurled, 
into the azure wedged, 
buttressing their mightiest sublime One, 
the noble high-soaring Peak, 
loftily aloof, 
roseate golden, 

cloudy insubstantial. 
Vast! 

I.— B 

O erupted fury primeval, 

scragged fold of the earth's straining crust 
jammed skyward convulsively, 
through torrid ages on ages 

scarred and splintered of the storm-bolts, 

i66 



of the seething rain-floods scooped and carven; 
thy ribbed acclivities 

lacerated of sudden streams; 
the gorged torrents, infuriated, — 
wrenching, braying toppled masses, 
tearing ravenously granitic channels — 
grooves and ruts, troughs and gulches 
to deep-gaping dank canons; 
ages on ages in the arctic 
ice-continent's boreal clutch, 

of its glacier-tentacles constricted, 

gouged, crunched, ripped, mangled, ground; 
the wastage of the moraines 
in avalanches and landslides 
tumbled thunderously plainward; 
ages on ages, the fierce hurricanes 
ablare with their sand-blasts, 
their hurled gravel-hail rough-hewing thee, 
till jagged tusks abraded, 

spires fantastical, crooked pinnacles, 
protrude vertiginously; 
and dragonlike rags of monstrous rock 
corrugated, honeycombed, grotesquely gargoyled, 
rear and ramp terrific 
over thy precipitous slopes atilt; 
O Mount immortal, serene, 

scornest thou to wage war for thy life? 

Beyond thy forested cones dishevelled, 
and thy cupolas enormous withdrawn, 
behind the embrasured bulwarks of thy foothills, 
wilt thou resist not, at length aroused, 
the perpetual onset outrageous 
of thine enemies? 
Canst thou forever 
brood awful 

above thine own chaotic might 
omnipotent 
moveless, impassive, rapt? 



167 



I. — c 

How deliberate 

the approach, how many, 

O Mountain, the footsteps 

unto thy kingly high-seat! 

Forth-thrown first to the fore 

the sheer bluffs Uft their parapets; 
then, treeless, shrubless, the undulant 
flats unroll them, 

whereover heavy freights earthshaking 
that bellow and snort, 

seem but sooty worms awriggle; 
whereon the city overcasting 

her rectangular lattice of lawn-edged poplar avenues 
is but a frivolous wooded patch of shimmer, — 
so broadly liberal their expanse; 
and, where the flats then decline 
to a creek-bed, upswelleth 
ruddy-soiled, scant-grassed, the mesa — 
by murk scrub-oaks leopard-spotted, 
with clustered yucca bespiked, 
whence behold, in the even-sun how marvelous 
thy majesty! From thy stately head — 
wind-tossed, magnificent 
thy stormlocks to the zenith 
flow free; 

the effulgence sifted through them 
thy reclucent countenance shadoweth 
as a fulvous aureate veil; 
each fold of craggy drapery distinct — 
dusk-green and emerald, red-mottled — 
about thy middle loose-girded 
a mantle to thy firm-planted feet of adamant 

down-sweepeth in imperial train; 
thy throne despotic — proud brethren 
less only than Thou, 
for thy haughty pride the proudlier 
upbearing thee; 

i68 



and lo! 

Over thy whole glory 
what azurous bloom is shed . . . 
fragrantly, as of an intervening 
cerulean heaven! 
Ah, who, who 

worshipfuUy must not avow him 
thy liege, O thou dream 

resolutely real, flushed with deity, 
lordly Mountain sun-crowned! 



THE MEANING 

II.— A 

From far yet, in pioneer decades 

six days' march hence, or seven, 
in endless train a-creak the wanes crawling 
between whirling smoke columns of desert dust — 
(their garish tunnels of sultry shelter 

for the wives and the little children; 
the trail indicated to later emigrants 
athwart the continent cynically 
by grotesque wreckage and bleached bones;) 
Oh, what savage shouts of drunken joy, 
what murmurs of thanksgiving 
suffocated by devout emotion, 
hailed thy first dim looming 

as a cloudy suspiration at earth's uttermost edge — 
then, soon again thy ghostly uprise 
as a sapphirine vague pyramid — 
and at length, 

thy sudden imminence of luminous mass! 
To trudgers, all but exhausted, 

hardy homeseeker, rash-spirited adventurer, 
what visions beatific of sweet peace 

by honest toil and slow thrift attained. 
What ungodly hallucinations 
of fabulous gain squandered 
in insolent lust! 

169 



How wast thou not to them, O Mountain, 

a prophet's cry, a trumpet-blast of inspiration, 
a theophany of the very grace covenanted 
in Accad ages gone 
to the God-expatriated patriarch of Ur? 

II.— B 

Ah, to interpret aright thy purpose ! 

For methinks thy silent welcome 
to a people that went by unheedful 
of unspoken higher meanings, nowise 
was thy final word; else wherefore also 
again and again the unwilling eye 
fascinate? Beckon insistently, allure, 
and the spirit tantalize — ever Thee, 

Thee, in manifold moods to contemplate? 

Which were, if one might have token sure, 
thy inmost sense inscrutable 
and last intention? 

For whatever man doth long envisage, 

he transfigureth to human semblance; 
hearkening oracles of his destiny 
in river and wind and sea. 

Therefore, speak, dost thou pierce untoward 
into the vortex tempestuous 
of the welkin thus, — 
a morbid self-chastiser? 

stony head and breast exposing 
to insensate rage fanatically — 
the livid lightning 
at lurid play about thee? 

Nay, rather, thou dost uplift thee 
a generous-hearted preempter 
of ills allotted at large? 

the knotted whipthongs of chaos, braving, 
that but for thee 
would demoniacally leash the earth 

170 



Or truth-eager, wouldst thou explore — 
with fierce torturing mystery 
cloaking thee, 
the awful turmoil 

but to discern there in the great hush 
at midmost fury — 
the still majesty of holy law 
as Afric Sinai of yore? 



II.— C 

Ha! Perchance, 'tis some disgust misanthropic 
caught of a world-ancient grief 
that biddeth thee thus gruffly 
shake off our leafy brethren, 

fain to win thee with fond caresses 
to a happier mind. 
For bare utterly dost thou rise, alone — 
and the verdant balsams aromatic, 
the silver spruces 
ashen-violet or beryl-bluish 
thou hast repulsed; 
the red-barked 

cliff-clamberers also 
with their lustrous long spines 
in sunshine iridescent, and their haunting 
aeolian roar, — 
Thou wouldst none of them! 

The slender, rigidly erect, sombre-suited sentinels 
and the wind-twisted knotty cedars, 
and, with their russet and sanguine 
October pomp, — the hardy shrub-oaks 
In close fellowships clustered; 
Ay, and, emerald-sheeny, the quaking aspens 
that flicker up a primrose yellow 
in autumnal ecstasy; and, asprawl, 
the juniper, pale-berried, close-clinging. 

None, none wilt thou tolerate 
rustling sociably their soul communion? 

171 



II.— D 

How otherwise may one interpret thee, 
strange Scorner — not only 
of tree-fellowship; — for the innocent 
flower children, dost thou forbid 
lest they come nigh thee! 

Delicately dangling the ruby gilia; 
the magical willowy wands awave 
of the goldenrod; the cerulean 
penstemon in skyey patches; 
the companies of the columbine 

white and mauve; 
the blazing-stars, staunch and crimson; 
the tremulously feminine 
campanulas; — nay, nor the stalwart 
scarlet-berried kinick-kinick 
and all their manifold 

bee-murmurous kith and kin — 
None wilt thou invite thee, to make merry 

up thy precipitous sides; 
tho' from base to top thy fellows 
make them joyful 

year by year with their gay invasion. 
Do their foolish hopes, foolish fears 
to a reasonless ire provoke thee? 
Their hand-clappings, hand-claspings, 
infantile laughter and complaint 
irk thee sore? 
Wherefore rather 

wouldest thou enermine thee 
with the snows dumb and deaf, 
feel the sharp ice cram thy gorges, 
cap thy peak and steel-fend thee 
against assailing sympathies heart-ang^ishful 
with what springeth up to perish futile? 
At heart a pessimist, O Mount, — 

forbidding thyself the insolent self-praise of pity, 
if impotent, alas, to foster 
and arrest their doom? 

172 



II.— E 

Or perchance, 'tis a voracious ardor 
instinctive, that upheaveth thee 
for purer air, 
for light 

by a dense atmosphere unsifted; — 
the dazzle intolerable of noon, 
the quiet 

of tfee starred midnight 
unprofaned; 
the pallid, opaline 
dawns, and the brassy sundowns 
extravagant; 
the violet afterglows 
and amethystine moonshine mystical! 
Yea, a passion 

that possesseth thee to refract the day, 
and empurpled, glow-enaureoled 

prolong it — 
catch the first breaking gleams, 
and steadily shine and shine 

to prognosticate the larger glory 
that shall engulf at last all gloom? 

II.— F 

Ah, methinks now, utterly, 

utterly hast thou abjured, O Mount, 
the Titan struggle without reason 
against fatal forces all-fashioning, 
which with brutal mouths agape 
thy scarped foothills proclaim; 
their skeleton strata 
from their livid-pale green-speckled rent flanks 
jutting truculently — as tawny 
buff or rufous crags weather-battered 
with scabrous cicatrices, and bedabbled 
with the purplish black gore stains 
of rebellious battle! 

173 



Wherefore mute, 

upbuilded elementally with sheer cliffs, 
a stupendous pile 

of loose-tumbled monoliths, 
above thy fellows art thou exalted 
thro' resignation; by thy gaze 
at the Eternal eternalized; 

an altar whereon for sacrifice 
nought is spread 
but heaven's own gift — 
the radiant raiment 

wherewith in winter it endueth thee 
for thy service sacramental, 
O Enthusiast; 
Yea, nought else at all 

save thyself hast thou to offer 
the all-hallowing divine Blue! 



THE MAN 

III.— A 

Ah, what fancies perverse 

doing thee dishonor; 
into moods of humanity translating 
thy solitude superhuman! 

For not surely art thou an unfeeling mass 

of willess forces upfliung; 
a chronicle of chance vicissitudes 

for geologist to ponder; 
a mindless glyph and symbol luck-sculptured 
to minister (thro' priest and prophet) 
unto some obsolete edification; 
a picturesque blind disarray 

to be exploited of dauber and word-monger ;- 
an inexhaustible dull hoarder 

of precious ore for the crazed prospector; 
a boastful lurer hither 

of sight-seekers from every clime! 

174 



Ludicrous indignities done thee 

of small-statured specialists! 
For who knoweth not what thou art, 

O Mount?— 
Quick energy, for thyself existing, 

incalculably potential, 
together held livingly of the law 
that sways suns throughout the universe; 
but the law, nowise imposed on thee! 
Nay, rather of thine own joyful choice 
adopted and obeyed, 
for thou couldest in volcanic orgasm 
leap forth, a flame to heaven, 
cumbering the earth with ruin 
unimaginable; or beyond her atmosphere 
outfly her reach 
and stray thro' space forever, 
stellar dust. 
And, thou boldest thee still 
self-contained, balanced to the greater Centre 
in unaffected humility; nay, fast-grappling thee 
as of desperation, 
for very being dependent on loving contact 
and intercourse essential with the Whole; 
of no extraneous power uplifted, 

nor on pinions idealistic 
airily oversoaring 
a despised abyss of peril, 
thou didst deign not to explore! 
By inherent bulk, massy power 
is thy sublimation compassed, 
maintained spiritually through all degrees, 

possessed substantially; — 
the mastered space 

in thy vastitude embodied, 
thou dost reach up from depths immeasurable 
continuously to thine own height, 
with alacrity self-upholden ; 
albeit content 

to indicate for others 

175 



heights yet higher to attain 
if it be their destiny; 
albeit refraining thee, from futile strivings 
self-withholden, 
of thy proper fate enamored, 
with the cosmic Order at peace, 
and with thy Self. 

Ill— B 

Ah, hast thou ari inkling 
that thou art thus our ideal 
of the magnanimous god-like Man? 

Nay, how shouldest thou know at all 

what thou art — to us men? 
Ah, how shouldest thou have knowledge 
in any wise as we, creatures 
of a day that are in part and are not, 
poor human glowworms 
ambitious for firefly freedom; — 
to whom is granted knowledge — 
that in aeons maybe and aeons 
in some scion reincarnate 
more worthy of our democratic ancestry, 
we may taste — if it be possible 
on this whirling planet 
for such as we — 
the bliss of actual being! 
But thou, Mountain, already art, 
verily art, hast thy selfhood 
achieved, nor needest 
inquire what thou art and art not; — 
for thee in equipoise, no progress further, 
nor retrogression to loathe 
with frenzied terror; 
ignorant, ah, totally ignorant 

of the mean and petty in thy environment: — 

the nauseous titillation from the bustle beneath, about 
thee, 
the parasitical squirm and swarm, 
the precipitate antlike 

176 



in-and-out, to-and-fro of man — 
forsooth presuming 
to discover thee, 
Thee of the miUion ages! 
investing thee with his uneuphonious 
cognomen lest thou suffer 
continuing nameless; with scrupulous accuracy 
noting thee (a scrawly centipede) 
on omniscient maps; 
charitably advertising thine exact altitude 

with tinted profiles of thy distinctive features! 
Ignorant, blessedly ignorant 

of the ingenious cogroad to thy summit 
as a noose about thy neck to picket thee! 
Of the halfbred herds haled at ease 
above the clouds, of their bovine jests 
and aesthetic hee-haws 
when from thy height for the first time 
they behold without reverent awe 
the sun ascend the heaven; 
and with a bored impatience 
await critically the program's ending 
to assure themselves they have their purchase; — 
then turn, relieved and joyous, 
to the sandwich and the pie! 
Ignorant, blessedly ignorant 

of the crasser fools who chisel out 
records of their pusillanimous personalities . . . 
for the unwinking stars 

(who could doubt it?) to scan inquisitively; 
a rebus for supposititious Marsites, 

with telescopes askew; 
a text hieroglyphic for unborn better races 
to ponder centuries and centuries! 
Ah, blessedly, thrice blessedly ignorant altogether — 
a victim never therefore 
of the horrible vertigo, the heartsick 
angry scorn of fellowmen — 
never slow-sinking in the swallowing quagmire — 
suspicious of thine own blood, brawn, brain, soul! 

177 



III.— c 

Yet, notwithstanding are not We 

by the very witness of the sceptic anguish 
more than Thou, — 

complacent, of doubt incapable? 
At least, destined to nobler issue? 

Behold if one instant thou deign 

from thy high trance to stoop thee, 
how we have journeyed on and on 
from viscous flow and reflex gush 
of cellular stuff, to cerebrations 
that coruscate away the universe! 
From protoplasm to vertebrate 

mammal, man, 
from amoeba to Plato, Caesar, Napoleon, Goethe! 

Ah, who in the slime incipient 

should have foreknown us? 
Who then shall dare prognosticate 

with calm assurance 
what fairer, firmer types of Manhood 
may not come forth from us in ages? 
Some higher Being, perchance 

of transilient imagination, unto ours 
as ours unto that of wildcat, 
crested jay, or woodchuck, 
or of the prolific grasshopper 
of the plains? 

III.— D 

Alas, how know we surely 

Thou hast not, long ere we began, 
grown aweary of the zigzag climb 
of Evolution? 

And hast learned to prefer static raptures 

the perpetual reticent self -identity; 
having left behind 

the palpitant communion, 

178 



for utter junction with the universe 

of thine own election and achievement wrought 
through denial of separate essence? 
For Thee henceforth no former time, 
no hereafter, 

nought to wish, fear, or hope — 

a life, without end to anticipate, 
of start immemorial, — 
All focused in the Eternal subsisting 'Now!' 

Oh, Mount of God most holy? 
Who for thee — sh^ll make reply? 



THE BEECH IN WINTER 

I. 

How gracious to look upon 

art thou 

this sunny winter morn, 

O Beech. Not now 

the bleak flaws and sleet-swirls hiss 

in rude onrush 

their gusty spite at thee, 

and menace. Nay, not this 

sweet holy day of windless hush. 
For, basking in the pale sun, lo, 

of stark shrub and icicled weed fine-sifted, 

the dry immaculate snow 

doth in nook and hollow nestle, 

and lieth ghost-drifted 

in quiet stretches wide 

like rippled sands by the beach of the moonlit sea. 
And Thou, — unchallenged the while to wrestle 

with hundred-arm'd demons of air — 

dost still as thy wintery wont, abide 

in the mystery dreamfast 

of the ever-recurrent summertide 

vaguely remembered. Wherefore, at last 

179 



to break thy silence no more 

dare 

I forbear. 
Nor surely wilt thou withhold 

comfort brotherly if in sooth thou be 

even as I, most gracious Tree, 
Twain-souled. 

II. 

O embodied Allegory — 

out of the midst of roots 

which from the depths of gloom have shrunk 

snakewise to writhe among lilac shoots 

and clumps of grass rime-hoary, — 
how straight doth thy mist-grey trunk 

uprise for the skyward soar 

of thy bole evermore! 

Yet how homesick too dost thou grieve 

for touch of the earth iron-frore: 
the friendlier nether 

half of thy boughs 

(whereto v/hite-frosted numberless leaves together 

ashudder close-cleave) 

do stoop them 

in gentle fellowships, 

yea, and adrowse 

do droop them, 
that only their uttermost delicate tips 

uplift them, as tho' they awoke at the end 

ashamed so to bend 

utterly down to the ground, — 
when their brethren, full half of thee, higher 

strive and aspire, 

and everywhither f orth-feather — 
(not one sole leap to some single 

zenith of aspiration supreme) — 
but the rather, with the whole heaven's round 

about and above 

to commingle 

and lose them, they seem; 

i8o 



yea, full fain 

again to caress it and yet again 

with reverent touch of manifold longing and love. 

III. 

Ha, the Unseen now sways, 
O embodied Prayer — soft, soft 
sways Thee, and me — ay, Me 
the impalpable spirit with thee. 

In vain abandoned nests aloft 

would recall to our mind 

blessed earth-sufficiencies: 

home-love, love of kind 

(builders, brooders, fledged nestlings flown; — ) 
from thy roots to thy topmost sprays 

alone ! 

And methinks 'tis a phantom bird 

only in memory heard 

warbleth wailful the plaintive but plain 

clear song of truth: — 
That never shall we attain 

strive howso we may, and pass 

alas, 

wingless as we and uncouth — 
(nay, never, tho' gifted we were 

as the birds of the air 

with flight for desire) yon sky — 

you 

and I — 

of pearly murk and aerial pellucid blue! 

IV. 

Nevertheless pray on, 

albeit thou have not thy prayer. 

In storm and still pray on, that so 

this lonesome wintertide 

Thou yet may'st win us, ere we know, 

i8i 



(our fainting faith's Upstayer, 

our wordy doubt's v/ordless Gainsayer, 

and gracious Rebuker of wilful pride) 
to prayer, to deep-souled prayer; 

nowise a devotion perverse — 

a false humility, our stature to curse 

and station; — but aspirant at once, dear Beech, 

and lowly of heart; remembering the lore 

the Wisest and Purest teach: — 
How thy downward yearning indeed doth foretoken 

the Sun's ardent, ever-new advent for birth 

in thee, and our kith and kin; 
How thy upward strain 

amain 

hath the passion outspoken 

which doth with the life begin 

of all los^al children of earth — 
to display the bond unbroken 

that knitteth athwart vast space 

our need to his golden outflow of grace: — 
Quickener at once and Slayer, 

who begat our wills as he willed. 
Wherefore pray on, for praying thou art thy prayer 

and ours fulfilled. 

V. 

Then wherefore boldest thou fast 

the shrivelled pleasures and passions dead of the vanished 

year? 
Shake, shake them abroad 
scattered to be, and amassed, 
in the hither and thither 
and futile nowhither 
of things — spent and forgotten at last ! 

If leafage of life thou do crave, 

why endeavor 

the outlived and lifeless to save? 
Nor the new shall come to thee ever 

from without! 

182 



(When burgeoned thou hast and bloomed 
wilt thou marvel more, or doubt?) 
Yea, from within, from within thee, 

Thee verily, even as dead, 

(snow-shrouded, ice-tombed) 

thy glory-to-be must thou win thee! 
The sun, overhead, 

with his ambient rays shall warm 

thy wood, for the sap to mount. 

The earth beneath thee, thawed, 

shall nutriment yield from her frost-freed fount 

of chemic energy. The tenuous atmosphere 

(thou feelest now as caress, 

now as buffet of storm) — 

shall serve thee no less. 

New fibrous strength will it grant thee 

unto ampler spread, 

and stouter stand in thy stead 
here, on thy gravel hill, here 

where kindly Fate did plant thee. . . . 
(Thy gravel hill fern-thatched 

in the spring, and with yellow violets sun-patched, 

and with mist-flower blue overhazed. . . .) 
But out from thee shall come, 

from thy Self, very thee of Thee, 

unregarded, unworshipped, unpraised — 
and from no remote Elysium 

(for me as for thee,) dear Tree, 

the life, the might, the thought, the will, the form! 

VI. 
For still — 

O thou most gracious Scion 

of the world-old forest 

primeval, — the God thou adorest 

and dost livingly rely on — 
thy God (How often with thee have I knelt 

in spirit, O Prayer made visible !) — 
thy God,— who else is He but thine own 

Nigher Self, inly felt 

183 



but unknown; 
Whom knowing not, heart-simple, thou feignest 

other than thou, 

without and afar, 

hereafter, not now; 
and in hope and wistful solitude remainest, 

yearning ever to sun and to star 

and beyond; — and thy spirit refrainest, 

in meekness amiss, 

from thy present absolute bliss! 

VII. 

Vain our knowledge. Ah, vain; 
nor aught of life shall we gain 
therefrom. Nay, let us not darken 
counsel with foolish speech 
of a wisdom unvital. Hearken, hearken, 
only I beseech 

henceforward thy soul's behest — 
which is best. 

And never, (O sanest 

Lover of the meek and the lowly. 
Adorer likewise of the high and most holy,) 
never refrain from thy old grateful reach 
earthward, nor from thy manifold strain 
heavenward, (tho' vain it seem — vain) 

if so be. Thou thereby mayest 
even as myself attain 
(the while thou yearnest and prayest) 
to thine own right stature and duty, 

the truth 

of Thee, beyond knowing and seeing, 

the deathless youth 
of thy goodliest being 
and beauty; 

O thou that art twain-souled — 

yea, art my Self, from shrouding mystery freed, 

for me in hallowed mood to behold 
and understand and heed. 

184 



AFTERWORD 



Not have these Lines been lying 

in Metre's Procrustean bed; 

their rack-extended feet, 

or truncated limbs adorn'd 

with barbarous jewels of Rime. 
Free be these Lines, 

and their Rhythm: 
only the motion — responsive to soul — 

of sadness or madness or mirth 

irresistible; 
yielding the body in confidence 

absolute unto the God who would speak, 

through leap and whirl and pose 

in breathless obedience to Him! 



185 



LIFE AND LOVE 

A SPIRITUAL BIOGRAPHY 
IN SONNET SEQUENCES 



PART I.— LOVE'S DAWN 



I. THE PHILOSOPHY OF LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP 

AN INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE 
TO A FRIEND OF YOUTH 



LOVE, THE SELF REVELATOR 

O Love, soul-healer, heaven-inbringer, hail; 
not for thy promises of instant good; — 
for whilst we do not ever the thing we would 

and live thus virtueless, most false the tale 

folk feign of thee! Earth-bliss that may not fail? 
Alas, a manhood, yea and a womanhood 
hallowed and whole, vain lures and wiles withstood, 

to prove thee all they praise, alone avail! 

Yet hail, if thou but winnow. Love, and sift; 
if we, thro' harmonies marred the cause discern 
of disaccord; and Thou (allowing no escape), 
urge on our indolent will the soul to shape; 
whereby the sooner perfected, to learn 
what the unspeakable sweetness in thy gift! 

187 



II. 

DIVINE DISCONTENT 

For, comest thou, a luUer into ease 

(false ease of mean content with things not best,) 
of our frail hearts no heavenly angel-guest 

wert thou, O Love, and thy sworn devotees, 

entering thy temple in close companies, 

gross worshippers of One, v/hose base behest 
were "Slay the God within! for the brief rest 

while biding here upon thy folded knees!" 

But being thyself, sweet Love, dear Love, O come; 
lay hold upon us, make our frailties all 
mutual slayers, — purgers of the impure, 
erecters of earth-glories to endure 
beyond their home, — v/hen we obey the call 
"Friend, come up higher!" tear -blind for thank, and dumb. 



III. 
LOVE'S ALTRUISM 

Should there have been — (when all we guess is known, 
and errors fall stripped bare by heartless fact 
as rose of petals) — no part to enact 

other than this strange earthlife; and alone 

it be our human lot to laugh and moan 
for trifles insufficient won or lacked; — 
still. Love, thy office were not to compact 

an altar of such nothings, or a throne! 

Self were our Idol not, nor thou his priest! 

Still were it well by alternate beck and scourge 
to give us what should have undying worth; 
that if at length — 'tis only "earth to earth," 
what is with thee thus buried, prove at least 
deserving of thy fullest royal dirge! 

i88 



IV. 

LOVE THE FRIEND 

So, Love, I pray thee, open our sealed eyes; 
the witchery-snared arouse from dreams o'er-sweet, 
whence the too late awaking, were to beat 

bruised breasts in self -revenge; and make thou wise 

thy dear but foolish questioners, by replies 
conclusive in austerity; and greet 
with gentle frankness them who bode deceit 

lurks in thy rainbow of our sorrow-skies! 

For surely, of birth and holy growth — the pains 
(tho' death be death) are good! Is not the rose, 

in finished blossom, full reward of rains, 

payment for sunshine drunken? Ought the close 
of dissolution to dissuade who grows, 

from hoarding now of growth his nobler gains? 



SUNDERED FRIENDS 

Fare forth, old friend of youth's tumultuous years, 
when every day bred multitudes of deeds 
in fancy done or cancelled; — ay, as breeds 

the sea her bubbles, and the rain his tears, 

woodlands their flowers unnoted, bending ears 
of bristling grain the field, or snowflake seeds 
the roadside milkweed. Woe to him who feeds 

on hopes illusive and unmeaning fears. 

Nay, note not now wherein we differ, friend, 
but what continueth a shared faith; for so 
shall old times balmily linger in new days — 
ay, make them hoar with the dear dust of ways 
trodden together. Fare then forth, but know 
friends part to meet which ways so e'er they wend. 

i8g 



II. LOVE'S PRELUDE 



WOLFENBUTTEL 

The grisly castle on arching pillars built, 
islanded, with the shallow stream for moat, 
th' old drawbridge — all did dreamlike overfloat 

a gulf; and the Child could feel the stone walls tilt, 

the rock-props bow, the whole labyrinth down-spilt 
(floors, roofs, halls, corridors) thro' th' awful throat 
of darkness; and a delicious horror smote 

who under pillows tucked his monstrous guilt. 

Ah, th' sweet protracted shudder athwart the square, 

against his dazzled eye a crystal prism, 
the bordering linden miraculously fair 

with opaline bright outlines; and before 
his feet, alway ahead, the vague abysm 

he dared, yet dared not, plunge in to explore! 

II. 

YOUNG ICARUS 

Old folk in a big house among huge trees, 
tall rosiers guarding stiff the gravelly path, 
small boats whittled to sail in marble bath, 

and giant-man (if so his Kingship please) 

to coax and wheedle, or buUyingly seize 

for battle-charger and ride with royal wrath 
in paper-heknet whirling sword of lath; — 

Ha, and the poodle too — to fondle and tease! 

Soon, pockets bulged by gaudy Easter eggs, 

wings fast-sewed to his shoulders, homeward flew 

along the road proud-hearted Icarus; 

v/hom then befel (as even to all of us) 

stung of ditch-nettles face and hands and legs, 

bidding in tears his hopes of flight adieu! 

190 



III. 

AS IN PICTUREBOOKLAND 

The barn with cluck of hens and cheep of chicks, 
cackle of geese, and turkey's gobble-gobble, 
pigeons' wing-winnowing, and ducks quick wabble; 

red cows in meadows milked; fly-angered kicks 

of stabled horses; kittens at darling tricks 
rollicking in the rubbish; pigs asquabble 
and squealing; th' old blind watch-hound's hobble; 

enormous strawstacks, shaggy-eaved hayricks. 

All these (not now in the Land of Picturebook, 
like goblin, ogre, fairy) real and true! 
Free, free for climb, run, leap and somersault, 
and May-bugs mightily from saplings shook; 

smeared hands and face and clothes — no shame or fault; 
what joy, to make a town-bred child halloo! 

IV. 
THE FIRST FUNERAL 

Tiptoeing gjreedily for a plump black cherry, 

chasing the butterflies from field to field, 

wasp-hunters crouched behind some shrubby shield 
with bow and arrow in red-paint savagery, — 
ah, well I know those days were long and merry; — 

tho' best of all the sorrowful hour we kneeled 

by a dear wee mother robin that revealed 
her love in death, whom forth we stole to bury! 

Over her young she clung when th' wicked crow 
pecked, pecked away. And not until he slashed 
her little throat, and tossed her out, had she 
forsaken them, dying. And, from the apple-tree 
on guard by the empty nest, the father dashed 
at every chance bird-comer in fury of woe! 

191 



V. 
ROADSIDE THEOPHANY 

Laid is the road-dust by a summery shower; 

on hand and cheek outheld drop splashy jewels 

from leafless plane-trees; flights and fierce pursuals, 
in panic glee behind their trunks to cower, 
or leap out thence the foe to overpower; 

rebellions new, and desperate subduals, 

reprisals, truces, boisterous renewals 
of mimic war; when, look, yon roadside flower! 

Spell-bound it held him still and calm and dumb. 
Its beauty, ah, its beauty ... a hyacinth . . . wild , 
each bell asparkle dewily . . . for him . . . 
but not to pull ... to love! And overcome 
of the choking passion, there the untaught child 
worshipped with cherubim and seraphim. 



VI. 
MYSTIC KINSHIP 

From the far land where only good folk live 
mountains reach higher, rivers broader flow, 
trees huger, and strange fruit and blossoms grow, 

some day was She to come, — who could forgive 

(tho' idle and greedy and noisy and talkative) 
her bad wee boy. But days were many and slow, 
and he had seen Her^-oh, so long ago! 

Not love, then; a weird thrill inquisitive. 

One day at dawn he 'woke, and with a cry 

leaped from his cot, and snuggled close and warm, 
and laughed, and gasped, and sobbed not knowing why. 
Was it the spirit remembered, — or the flesh, — 
th' old birth-woe? and thro' Eden walked afresh? 
and felt one mystic bliss two souls inform? 

192 



VII. 
TOWARD FIESOLE 

Citron and oleander rows; paths part and meet, 
caper-bloom blotching terrace-walls; twin-pines 
bless the cool house the noon-glad sun beshines; 

in the laurel grove a moss'd familiar seat; 

cicadas shriek without in the dancing heat; — 
great figtrees sprawl them, and upleaping vines 
close-chamber, and far, in slow processional lines, 

gnarled hoary olives haze the glary wheat. 

By th' plashy fountain, on his broken plinth. 
Pan pipeth jessamine-melodies abroad; 
a little white-frocked maiden in her lap 
drops baby hands; while lost in the labyrinth 
of olden fable, I drop (by sweet mishap) 
flowers on her head, with wonder overawed. 



VIII. 
SAN GIOVANNI 

Holy city in the fertile plain outspread, 
thine still the secret (tho' forgot long since) 
of Her, — estranged and lost to th' fairy prince — 

until a dream the little maid was dead 

brought fever-nights of sobs to a little bed, 
and longings sore to track her faint foot-prints 
into the mystery, — gleaning golden hints 

of God, as jasmine sprays, to crown her head. 

In vain he yearned upon some festal day, 
rapt of the chant, astare at candle-shine 
about high altars twinkling marvellously; 

but, San Giovanni, when the Duomo uprose, 
itself one altar lit in the night divine, 

the stars with the Child spake — what no man knows. 

193 



IX. 
GROWING APART 

Sweet-brier and spruce wax friendly side by side: 
'flutterbys' fill him with a jealous ache 
that drunken sips of her bloom-wine they take, — 

greedy bees tousle her petals and overglide, 

and tumble them irreverently, and deride 
his rage: — Rogues, wait till a few seasons make 
his treeship stout; then will be fir-cones shake 

to crush rude wooers of his chosen bride! 

Ah, the years — they came; nor soon the silver spruce 
forgat, for low his branches drooped and yearned 
to earthward; but the striving sap updrove 
each season his blue-tipt beaut}'; and wont and use 
of sun and storm fashioned him, till he clove 
the sky, and ignorant roots the sweet-brier spurned! 



X. 

BOCCA D' ARNO 

Dense forests along the river loudly aroar 
in the wind. On, still we rode; till came 
the deep hoarse notes of thunder that proclaim 

the March Mediterranean; and sudden, inpour 

on white sands — flashing seas, that were before 
unto the boy a weird and awful name — 
now a great madness his spirit to untame, 

a horror of marvel, a glory to adore! 

Long, fascinated of the dusk, he ran 

pursuing still some bark of ghostly sail, 
ere breathless on the shore he sank alone. 
When Cometh again unto the fullgrown man 
such word of worship on the blustering gale, 
such rapturous certainty of the Unknown? 

194 



XI. 

FIRST MANHOOD 

The pass attained, in hushed expectance stood, 

intrepid fellow-farers, he and I — 

yea, I — even I at length — who dared defy 
prejudgment, novice in the brotherhood 
of men, — that know the evil from the good 

and freely choose, proud so to do or die ! 

Foolhardily pinnacled? Ah, not over-high 
for hero hearts, who will the thing they would! 

Hark! a low growl — a roar — the avalanche 
down-hurtling foamy torrents to the abyss — 
Howbeit, we tremble not nor start nor blanch, 
intoxicated of youth's Alpine air. Hold, hold!- 
myriad ice-peaks afire with rose and gold. . . 
Ah, God, the terror of beauty and extreme bliss ! 



XII. 
PRIMEVAL MAN 

Methought that I surveyed the conquered earth, 
and felt my breast swelling with pride of kind: — 
Man, feeblest, slayer with lightning of the mind, 

lord of all life, and final judge of worth! 

Suddenly, the sky, roaring, gives wild birth 
to shaggy mammoths who the forests grind, 
huge bears, and wolfpacks fleeter than the hind, 

that check my vaunting with a monstrous mirth: — 

"Thinkest our fear of man — a fear of thee, 
poor cowardly liver by thine apish wits? 

Our conqueror left earth with us long ago! 
Degenerate heir of unearned benefits, 
wouldst thou dare front us with his spear and bow? 
His eye couldst thou endure so long as we?" 

195 



XIII. 
PARENTAL JEALOUSY 

And it was so — that, when against the wall 
the King's seat set, and none in David's room 
among the captains, out of the sullen gloom 

glowered on Jonathan the fell eyes of Saul: — 

"Son of perverse rebellion, wherewithal 

hath Samuel 'witched thee so to choose thy doom,- 
yea, and mock before all men thy mother's v/omb? 

Next to the Bethlehemite? Thy thrall's base thrall?" 

The javelin hurled, forth strode in anger and shame 
Jonathan from the King his father's tent; 
and, David's heart and hand to strengthen, spent 
his wonderful love beyond belief of man. 
Yet for thy father, amid the world's acclaim, 
hast thou no pity, O Jonathan, Jonathan? 

XIV. 
THE SOUL'S EDEN 

Strange madness of vainglory, O Greek commander, 
weeping for other worlds to subjugate! 
and didst not know, though splendid was thy state, 

though to thy lusts unbounded realms might pander, 

proffering thee costlier delicates, godlike grander 
triumphs than deified despots dream'd; though fate 
worship thy memory, and vaunt thee "Great," — 

numberless empires knew not Alexander? 

Each human soul a realm, — nay, world complete, — 
joyous or sad, but free! Nor ever can 

(save by Love's gracious leave) ambitious feet 
tread on its sacred soil; for still the ban 
of some strong God bids conquerors retreat: 
a flaming sword invisible to man. 

196 



XV. 
FLOWER-TALISMANS 

No friends in the monkish many-eyed solitude 
but kingcup, crowfoot, wild geraniiim, 
heartsease, and poppy, in the herbarium 

mummied devoutly; and tho' their souls elude 

capture, unto my spirit unsubdued 

in dreams they come from th' flower Elysium 
as dainty maidens gracious, frolicsome, — 

that straightway vanish, ardently pursued. 

What snout-tusked behemoth, or crocodile 
sunning lank jaws in the foul ooze of Nile, 

could sense the approach of translunary things; 

and creatures immaterial, uncreate, — 
witcheries sweet, vague marvels, hallowings 
boyishly shy, zephyr ously delicate? 



XVI. 
ALTENBAUMBURG 

THE LILIES 

Of Altenbaumburg the grim tale is told, — 
How the lord thereof of old to Holy Land 
fared, cross on bosom. And a lewd kinsman planned 

the lady's ruin. When to all wooings cold, — 

of smiles he taxed her for a page high-souled. 
And long the subtly kindled flame he fanned, 
ere the earl, sped home, by torturing doubt unmanned, 

and frenzied smote, and laid the twain in mould. 

Lo, on the morrow above the outcast grave 

twin lilies shone; but th' ruthless sword, which slew 

lady and youth, their upright purity clave. 

In vain. For, with the dawn they uprose anew 
and bloomed God's witness she was leal and true. 

Then thro' his heart fierce grief the death- thrust drave! 

197 



XVII. 
ALTENBAUMBURG 

THE COMFORTER 

Alas, and couldest thou thus smite and slay 
whom thou didst swear for better and for worse 
to cherish — a woman? Poor passionate heart perverse, 

of wicked calumny the piteous prey, 

what durst thou in the awful judgment say — 
a judge thyself, unjust? No rays disperse 
of moon or star the midnight of thy curse — 

a living gloom in God's undying day. 

But hark, another legend: For seven-score 
blind palsied years he lived, — shunned, feared, unknown, 

deemed mad, for that at morn and eve he kneeled 
by those twin lilies to wring his hands and groan. . . 
Till — God's own mother came and blessed and healed, 
and he had rest, and the lilies bloomed no more. 



XVIII. 
FORETASTE AND AFTERTASTE 

Prepotent wizardry of bygone joys! 
often have I beheld thy faraway smile 
and marvelled what thy vision — over stile 

athwart field, beyond stream; — what thing might poise, 

Mother, midair, — invisible to a boy's 
penetrant sight, — that so could thee beguile, 
grief-haunted, thee? Tho' sweeter than erstwhile, — 

in memory sipped, no golden honey cloys? 

Ah, thou didst awe inquiry. Unprofaned 
the hallowed mysteries, my head 1 bowed 
reverent, and lonely with thy loneliness. 
Yet, neither could I to thee my hopes confess, 
my boyish faiths, — adventures unavowed 
to goals of fortune, never since attained! 

ig8 



XIX. 

mGnster am stein 

Two castled crags buttress the mount; their feet 

washed by the silver of the shallow river; 

shrubs, briers and grasses whisper, waver and quiver, 
in wanton airs with linden subtly sweet; 
but th' brine-pumps shudder, sob and low entreat, 

like spirits in torment. Ah, who may deliver 

souls from self-loathing? Life-giver and for giver, 
why now and ever thy best boons incomplete? 

I leaned me over th' parapet of the bridge, 
when sudden anear some strange soft voice spake slowly: 
"Thither thou goest, and so" — "Not I — Lord, Lord." 
"Yea, child, for that thou hast thyself abhorred." 
Deep-sighing I gazed from moon-hazed ridge to ridge, 
from star to star — and th' long lone night was holy. 



XX. 

PROPHET OR POET? 

Through the purple portal of that heart of thine 
where sets the sun of self in sumptuous state, 
pass on, with earth's full beauty insatiate, 

to where no range of mountainous hopes confine 

thy vision clear; thou, who dost life resign, 
its whole cloud-sky of follies dissipate, 
pierce on — the inmost Splendor contemplate, — 

float rapturously on fluctuant deeps divine! 

But, oh, return not thence, thou man of God, 
leave not thy bliss to teach us ; naught avails. 
We yet will tread the ways our fathers trod. 

Above earth's dusk-veiled peaks of purity, dumb, 
stand beckoning! If thy starry summons fails, 
will cries and tears and pleadings make us come? 

199 



XXI. 
A HADLEY HOLIDAY 

Limpid blue sky-pools shifting argent edges 

'twixt toppling billowy heaps of lucent cloud; 
hyaline shower and beryl sun-bow. Unploughed 

fallow and wheat-field green; green wayside hedges; 

meads, golden-dotted, green to the lush, quick sedges; 
diaphanous willows verdantly wind-bowed 
by slipping emerald streams, that croon half-loud 

where the ivied steeple's spire — light-etched — upwedges. 

Bright, pure, sweet, tender, — England's blessed June: 
green dart of dragon-fly, flash of kingfisher; 
eglantine, honeysuckle sheeny-fresh; 
Shakespeare's and Shelley's runes to importune 
coy visitants that may not long demur « 

when flesh is spirit, and the spirit flesh! 



XXIL 
A FEVER HALLUCINATION 

In a dream-forest, o'er the moist leafmold 

above her green-fret aureole, (while drip-dripped 
the night-rain 'round) golden-eyed, rosy-tipped, 

the pale anemone shivered unconsoled 

of day, for one tear's burthen. A woe foretold 
vaguely, but irremediable, my heartstrings gripped. 
I kneeled me down, and her pure sorrow sipped 

for pity. Who might well such grace withhold? 

In vain. Her petals, translucent for the wet, 
fell moth-still on her leaves, flitting to ground 

ghostwise; when on my shoulder — a soft touch! 
Our eyes, serenely in recognition met: — 
"In this vain charity the spell is found 

we sought, my son. Ah, who can love too much?" 



XXIII. 
THE PEAK OF VISION 

"Come," whispered he, "climb at the least the nether 
of thy twin peaks of vision." I clomb with him 
grief-heavy, whenso my hand he loosed; to skim 

(snapping asunder earth's tense spirit-tether) 

on swallow-pinions over stone and heather 
ahold of one another. And soon, vast, dim 
the plains outspread; and my eyes for joy o'erbrim 

on the upper height — in hallowing hush together. 

"Son, hereto fain was I to climb in life. 

Wherefore, 'tis given me hither in death to soar 
with thee. Nay, deem this no delusive dream! 
Ever my spirit was let of futile strife 
in yonder flats. So shalt not thou blaspheme 
Love that is all in all forevermore." 



XXIV. 
CONVALESCENCE 

Who eye to eye hath gazed in th' face of death — 

for him old Earth her primal splendor wears; 

o'er dew-sprent meadows blithesome forth he fares, 
his heart with the lambkin gamboling; his breath 
difficult for the cloud that shadoweth 

the hoarthorn-wooded hillside unawares, 

till th' sun, forth-burst, — youth's vagrant vague despairs 
vanish, as th' ghostly shadow vanisheth. 

O glens of sheer moist crags, O thunder falls 
foam-wild and windy, fern-fronds madly adance; 
querulous bleatings in green uplands lone; 
twittery loops of flight and plaintive calls 
of hill-larks; O vast river-thrid expanse; — 
how shall he ever your spell and sway disown? 



XXV. 

. AGAIN THE TROJAN BOY 

"Blinkbonny" yonder a-perk on "Sunny-brae" — 
at th' top of the narrow crooked cobbly street 
whose braw wee homes upscramble, snug and sweet 

with pots and shrubs in happy disarray; 

laburnum, syringa, wall-flower yet waylay 
my spirit, and compulsively entreat 
three pure glad lassies' smiles again to meet — 

each proffering her fresh-pulled strawberry. 

Her of the auburn glory? Her of the raven? — 
Eyes sapphirine? Eyes jetty? Gay, true, kind? — 
or passionate, haughty, tense, imaginative? 
Not theirs the name in th' shrine of youth engraven. 
Nay, pensive, tender, of loveliness undefined, 

Hers rather whose wistful grey-green eyes forgive. 

XXVI. 
FIRST DISILLUSION 

Along life's sun-bright highway in lustihead 

boldly the lad strode forward mile on mile, 

deriding lures of bypath, shady stile, 
green-ripply pool, walled orchard, garth or stead; 
for a farewell word to say, — and left unsaid. 

What drunken cries the evening hush defile? 

A rout of reapers, women and men, lewd, vile, 
goatlike leap past with Corybantic tread. 

And in the town, starved, brutish, foul, obscene, 
night's outcast tide forth-gorgeth to the wharfs: — 
wizen children, blear-eyed mothers, dotard dwarfs, 
harlots, bloat reeling brawlers. . . .God, this, this 
the world — thy stars from heaven behold serene? 
And angels hail Thee — holy in ignorant bliss? 



XXVII. 
MATERIALISM 

A vision came to me that asked no leave: — 
With daybreak, over meadowland dewstrewn; 
by streambank, or cool forest-edge, at noon, 

with day's fire-passion pulsating; at eve 

when glowed the west day's rapture to receive, 
thro' the ripe fields, and under the gold moon 
no Man! Iron monsters noiseless late and soon 

stalk back and forth, and the sad harvest sheave! 

Then to vast cities of men's building fled 

my spirit. Lo! through close streets traffic-worn, 
o'er squares, whose splendor splashing founts applaud, 
no living Men, — but everywhere the Dead! 
Not spectres even of creatures womanborn, — 
but automatic tombs that swarm abroad! 

XXVIII. 
THE SAVING FAITH 

Stern prophets of the law, and hermit-saints, 

shall cruel mummeries chasten and atone? 

By loud-mouthed creed, by coward wail and moan, 
Man, hallowed? or by torturing constraints? 
Woe's me, beholding you, my soul's hope faints — 

wilts as a morning-glory overblown. 

What? Yours — the heavenward way of old foreshown? 
And Christ's — on all things lovely, your attaints? 

Yet, tho' anhungered, shall no honeyed morsel 

the birthright buy of a holy sweet young love. 
Not Venus, thou avaunt, white Witch of Horsel! 
In hair and bosom methinks coiled serpents hiss 
th' doors wherethrough thy temple votaries shove 
op'n lurid, on a sudden black abyss. 

203 



XXIX. 
NEAR AND FAR 

Medreamed a traveller toil'd the long land thro': 
His path rock-hemm'd, now under trees yet bare, 
o'er sun-dried sands, or treacherous stretches where 

stored rains thro' dead weeds blinked; and no wind blew 

to give aught life. Sore did the traveller rue 

that forth he adventured on vain quests to fare, — 
all things unseen of the vacant sullen stare, 

till the spirit a chance look backward smote and slew. 

"Barren hills of birth, — and arid tracts o'er-past, — 
most wonderful for beauty? Ah, nowise so! 

Well do I mind me of all your hideousness; — 
even as this ground! Now, verily now I know 
those hills of beckoning repose at last, 

be as this present, bleak — nor more, nor less!" 



XXX. 
FAR AND NEAR 

Medreamed a wayfarer in th' drear waste lay 
incredulous of all good but death. "Believe," 
I longed to cry, "thou dost thy soul deceive;" 

but dumb lips vainly to hearten him essay. 

Then sudden, as for strength to help I pray — 
an angel doth his home of comfort leave, 
alighteth nigh, and whispereth: "Wherefore grieve, 

Brother? Arise, and onward toil — today." 

"Yea, and tomorrow?"— "Toil."— "And after?"— "On! 
Canst thou not see how magically fair 

bloometh the trodden waste? And such it is. 
The ground thou treadest hath invisible share 
of heavenly beauty. As shines the sun who shone, 
so th' hills of birth and ultimate rest — are His!" 

204 



XXXI. 
LUMINOUS HOURS 

Time hath no substance save what borrowed is 
of the soul's vital being. Moments dart, 
huge suns, leagues inconceivable apart, 

self-hung in the void abysm of centuries, 

framing the real light sphere — immensities 
of nothing, merely marble with black art. 
And the true seers record on their sky-chart 

only the suns in stellar symmetries. 

What madness then to clamor for length of years 
whose lapse were adding naught to naught in vain? 

Ask rather, that every allotted minute burn 
with all its possible luster: splendid pain 
or radiant joy. So shalt thou verily earn 
Eternities secure from cynic jeers! 



XXXII. 
THE LIVEOAKS IN MARCH 

Brave battlers with the phrenzied winds of fate, 

who stand, though shaken, firm-footed on cliff-ledge, 
stream-border, swamp-marge, turning the fierce edge 

of vehement currents, lifting the vast weight 

of their mad falls on tortuous branches, great 
and legioned leaves; — O Trees in March, full pledge 
that our wills, resolute, can sternly wedge 

blasts of adversity, and storms of hate: 

Impart your spirit, that every muscle grow 
gnarled, knotted, self-controlled, wherewith to thrust 
redoubled onslaughts back with stubborn might; 
no rage, rush, rancor, chase of worsted foe — 
Ye, who war not because ye choose but must, 
your roots fast riveted in their native Right! 

205 



XXXIII, 
UNEARNED RETURNS 

Nay, jealous souls, ye dare imagine naught 
can wax fair and complete, unshapen of pain 
knowingly borne and bitter? Ye entertain 

(hard hearts!) no sacred hope that (though we wrought 

through years of sullen misery, ere we caught 
one clew to the dire labyrinth,) in th' plain 
some Child may gaily weave a daisy-chain 

to snare unwittingly the wisdom sought? 

Comfort it were to deem our grief unshared; 
our paths untrodden of many a soul, too pure 
for cleansing sore, who gently in by-paths fared; — 
too heart-whole for hell-remedies that cure 

with pangs lonelily awful; too bright-haired 
to need the halo, mart5rr-pains ensure! 



XXXIV. 
THE PARABLE OF THE DEW 

In th' city square of grass an hour we spent. 
What dared with obstinate glad eyes pursue 
the heart, to search its moody deep? The dew. 

But angry answer got it as we went: — 

"Why Primacy? Why ever preeminent 
(tyrants, or delegates elect) the few, — 
when equal myriads might swing green, red, blue, 

or gold in your breeze-rippled firmament?" 

"True, and 'tis ye misdeem us, angle-bound. 

Alike doth dance, in th' selfsame sun ablaze, 
our emulous beauty, tho' only the sky's round 
(all angles compassing) can all behold." 
In vain their parable the dewdrops told: 
still angle-bound, we award our blame and praise. 

206 



XXXV. 

THE JUDGMENT 

Not as a terror of sudden thunderclap 

Cometh the judgment? Nay — as sunny air, 
distinguishing, in season, foul from fair; 

causing to rise from sleep-stark roots the sap, 

and swelling buds to burst; so, where ill hap 
the dreamer slew, it leaveth him to scare 
with skeleton boughs a-writhe at fruitless pray'r,- 

in the grove's fellowship — a ghastly gap! 

Ah, were it not ignoble of God's spring 
to mock the lost? As in Bahama fields 

close-bloom the lilies, unhaunted by a thought 
of perished bulbs, all beautifully up-wrought 
by sun and shower the blessed season yields — 
God's saints alone shall stand up — blossoming! 



XXXVI. 
EVIDENCE OF SANITY 

Crazed? Crazed! poor cringing dotard hobbling by, 
stayed on thy staff — thy back with life's load bent. 
Thy toothless greeting — Ha, what hath it meant — 
.benign light gleaming in thy colorless eye? 

For, faring under summer's serene sky 
when blossoms cheer with warm voluminous scent 
the very blind; or, when clouds pitch their tent 

o'er a dull world, — he greeteth all. Mad? Why? 

Strangely it smote me then, what the sole proof 
thereof; — that in all weather foul or fair 
ever he smiled alike in every face. 
Ha! Have we come to this, — that equal grace 
to all, at all times, in God's open air, 
proves maimed the mind, from man and God aloof? 

207 



XXXVII. 
NOT YET 

One night I woke, for at my soul's door, hark, 
a gentle rap, heard surely once before, 
though when, I wist not. Quick, unbar the door? 

Nay, ask thou first who ventureth thro' dark 

and wind and rain! Straightway I knew. No spark 
on my hearth glimmered, no fitting robe I wore. 
"Not now. Lord, dare I open. Knock no more. 

Too vile this hovel for thee its soil to mark." 

Then sudden, a deafening clangor, and the walls 
of my poor house shot high — a glory seat — 
a holy fane, where robed as priest I stood, 
and crowned as King. Now welcome Him I would. 
But the sole answer to despairing calls — 
a slow dread shuffle of faint withdrawing feet. 



XXXVIII. 
PRESENCE 

Nay, Thou art ever with us till the end. 

In massy gloom like ultimate bounds of space 
stern arches close us in. And face with face 

of friend and stranger indistinctly blend 

to a still radiance. The white candles spend 

their virgin strength, uprearing, each in place, 
spheres quivering of golden glow; and holy pace 

keeping, the anthem's soft notes heavenward wend. 

Then tears spring, and breath fails. In dumb amaze 
the heart asks: "Who art Thou, that comest so 

all-hallowed, in the loss of everything? 
Who art Thou, speak — whom the blind feelings know? 

Behold the beautiful grace of the Great King, 
who walketh o'er the hushed seas of our praise! 

208 



XXXVIII. 
NO CROSS, NO CROWN 

True, there be lessons hard for us to learn, 
which we may understand, and do believe, 
yet cannot take to heart. Still must we grieve 

that we are cramped and meagre; still must burn 

for freer, higher things; but ne'er discern 
when we be nearer; for to self we cleave, 
and, sanguine, ever again our heart deceive: 

without distress some worthy bliss to earn! 

And, nowise ever on pleasure's paths we meet 
Love's angels soothing, sweetening, comforting. 

To feel blithe spring is worth the snow and sleet; 
'tis worth long rains to hear the song-birds sing; 

life's bitter, if more we relish so its sweet; 
the martyr's death, when close to love we cling. 

XXXIX. 

AUTUMN SADNESS 

Sad deemest thou the glorious death of day, 
when the last beams, caught by horizon-mist, 
flare out in crimson, rose, gold, amethyst 

the prismal secrets of the living ray? 

And sad the carnival of colors gay 
wherewith, at the year's set, the leaves insist 
they too are of the sunny Colorist 

light-hearted children tho' the frost gainsay? 

Sad is the vast laugh of the wind-clear'd sky, 
the waste of shine on symmetries reveal'd 
in the stripp'd boughs? Blasphemer, why proclaim 
with thine own mouth thy spirit's piteous shame? 
For still the brave, and the proud who dare not yield, 
forefeel the bliss of dying — ere they die! 

2og 



XL. 

TRUE YOUTH 

Dear glorious world, thou art forever still 
worthy the song of poets, and all men 
would be thy worshippers, but each his den 

inhabiteth of baser things; his eager fill 

preferring for animal appetites, that kill 

the soul of worship; free one moment, and then, 
the next, by self-blown whirlwinds sucked again 

into the vortex of the slavish will! 

O never to forfeit boyhood's fresh delight 
in sunshine on gold waters, in long hills 

of leafless woodland hoar with winter's breath; 
breathless forever with the wind's swift flight, 
gladdened by the loud leap of flashing rills, 
till prospects new burst on the soul with death! 



XLI. 
SWEET MAID INCONSTANCY 

The sparrows in a flutter whirl and quarrel; 

the maple-buds have burst in crimson sprays; 

wild peach and cherry in snowy and rosy haze 
abloom; the dogwood glows; the mountain laurel 
flings up budclusters waxen, of delicate coral; 

Spring, Spring at last, the blessed prayed-for days 

of reasonless delight and still amaze, — 
and myth new-fabled without end or moral! 

Ha! thro' her garth oread or dryad goeth 
beautiful, chaste, — and smileth to thy smile. 
Hold! Dost thou see not the moss'd precipice? 
How can she love one lover — thee — that knoweth 
ages, — and ever new wooers to win and wile 
with th' elusive azure-eyed lure of her pure kiss? 



XLII. 
INNOCENCE HUMAN 

"Beautiful, mother? What is beauty?" — "Ask, 
Child, the anemone!" — "She shivereth 
in the spring-wind!" — "Hark what the azalea saith 

unto the honey-bees at their sweet task; 

watch the yellow wheat-seas roll, the leafage bask 
crimson and gold and purple, and at a breath 
fall fluttering earthward" .... "Nay, is beauty death 

to whoso dareth bid her brow unmask?" 

The rock-edge snowily shag-fleeced, icicle-maned; 
oak, beech, brier, aster, goldenrod frost-hoary, 
transfigured to iridescent crystal glory 
unsufTerable ; — these also, the sun slew. 
But God Apollo — Her to his breast constrained. 

then, blind for rapture of love. She blushed and knew! 



XLIII. 

INNOCENCE DIVINE 

In red-rose bower, green-shadowed from the shine 
of sky and sea, lay Psyche in dream aloof. 
To twitter of bird-wooings, the leaf-roof 

fluttering sun-blessed, Eros, in the bloom-twine 

(for Aphrodite's envy) of aim malign, 
stood, dire; — but, tangled straightway in passion's woof, 
he wooed her nightly, praying, for love's behoof, 

in hallowed dark to trust his troth divine. 

Soon subtle whispers wrought. Harm-boding, lo! 

his godhood thro' diaphanous veil espied, — 
smit-blind, heart-heavy He vanished; She, for woe 

wasted, 'till Zeus (her dying prayer denied) 
gave Eros sight, and Her immortal glow, — 

and, seeing as God, Love smiled for holy pride. 



XLIV. 
FIRST SIGHT 

"Make known the trysting day decreed of old. 

What sign — to mark her when she passeth by? 

Lovelier, — shall she woo the sensual eye 
enriched with honor, of all the world extolled? 
Or, — shall she, close in mystery enfold 

her beauty for whoso draweth softly nigh 

God-guided to her shrine? What loss if I 
shall lose her, overtimid or overbold?" 

Thro' the unbroken snow, on, on he pushes 
obeying invisible sunny beckonings; 

around him fluffy-ruffed, in ermine hoods 
shine oaks ice-jewelled, and holly and hazel bushes. 
Ah, met he no one in the winter-woods? 
What low sweet laugh in memory birdlike sings? 



XLV. 

HEART'S PERVERSITY 

Beholding beauty, men and Gods adore; 

yet, as the closed lid dims the azure day, 

so might a resolute scrutiny display 
to keen leal eyes — what should no pity implore, 
but ravish contemplation more and more. 

From who hath not, ignobly take away? 

Th' self-plight word: 'let there be love' unsay — 
for that to grant full largess, fate forbore? 

— "Thou — scorn to worship who doth praise command 

by absolute occult prerogative? 
Thou, — wield Life's sceptre in fool-hardy hand, 

at thy fond dooming, grace withhold or give — 
who nowise mayest Love's wisdom understand, 

nor his prenatal fiat defy, and live?" 



III. A VISION OF THE PASSING OF EROS AND 
APHRODITE 

XLVI. 
LOVE'S SORROW-TRANCE 

Heart-lost lay Love on the wave-beaten beach. 
Eyeing him sweetly, lucent-robed, a maid 
at either hand leaned o'er her harp and played: 

one instrument ebon, strung with moonbeams, each 

captured distinctly; th* other in bending reach 
by th' fairer harpist, — ivory, overlaid 
with rose-flush faint for nearness chilly-afraid 

to brow and bosom, of sunny musical speech. 

Bare gleaming arms exquisite in blithe curves, 
and firm of grace, bloom into hands that sweep 
zephyrously soft the vibrating tense chords. 
Lo, either harpist with ardent eyes observes 
(but for their greed of seeing, fain to weep) 
her own best-loved heart's lord-elect-of-lords ! 

XLVII. 
LOVE'S AWAKENING 

"O Yearning, true, what aileth, speak, thy Lord? 
O Joy, voluptuous-lipped, and wont to fling 
some bird-like snatch of witchery a-wing 

to warble about thee; what dire spell abhorr'd 

unkings his spirit, whom ye vowed to ward 
from influence unholy? Let upspring 
tumultuous strains his spirit to re-king — 

tho' his flower-sceptre change to barbarous sword!" 

Ah, Yearning, noble-browed, thy dark eyes fill 
with tears? And, Joy, thou sobbest too? 
Ye dread the wrath of madness to provoke? 
Better he slay you in fury self-will, — 

or behold him piteously his death-dream woo?" 
Whereat, as from a trance, — their Lord awoke. 
213 



XLVIII. 
LOVE'S SOOTHSAY OF DOOM 

"In vain.... too late! My throne crumbleth to dust. 

A blast fanatic from charr'd wilderness 

shall wrap th' whole earth in fire. Nevertheless — 
reptile and vermin overlive; yea, lust 
unnatural, cringing greed, and gross mistrust 

wear priestly vesture; and craven man doth bless 

all blasphemy of life, and lewd excess 
of fury against things lovely and august! 

"Oh, Aphrodite, holy Mother of bliss, 

rise in thy billowy fierceness, and with death 
of raging sorrow-seas wash clean the earth, 
and sweep all gods and men into the abyss 

of utter naught, ere they call vileness worth, 
and darkness light! for lo, Love perisheth!" 

XLIX. 
THE TIDAL V/AVE 

As 'twixt twin luminous cliffs (their harps) inrolled 

majestically tempestuous, up the strait, 

the full sea of a harmony passionate. 
And the frothy tidewave heaved, swelled, gathered hold 
upon the vast deep of the stillness cold; 

waxen each moment, with frantic might elate, 

until up-heaped — one mountainous height of fate 
to quench the sun 'mid clouds, a blaze of gold. 

Suddenly crested 'twas with Aphrodite 
effulgent, spread voluptuously bare. 

Her eyes flashed drowsy bliss into the soul, 
her arms, spray-beaded, reached in sweet entreaty. 
And the wave brake in welter of despair, 
then back to the sobbing bosom of silence stole. 

214 



L. 

CASTING THE HOROSCOPE 

What? Love, and his fair harpist-maidens drown'd, 
by the awful onset of mysterious might, 
foam-crested with the Mother-of-delight — 

(upheaval from harmonious deeps profound — 

waters under the earth, man dare not sound,) 
that swirled, and swallowed all in vast affright? 
Nay, a m.ere fever-vision of the night, — 

no mystic sense for Wisdom to expound? 

Yearning and Joy — Lord Love — and Beauty too 
gone? And the nightmare-terror, — the desert-blast,- 

hath blown forth over the charr'd earth his fire? 
The age of reptile and vermin overpast, 
whence cometh, speak, — seer, poet, deity, — Who 
life with th' old breath of God to reinspire? 



2»S 



PART II.— LOVE'S SUNRISE 



THE WOOING O' IT 

A SONNET SEQUENCE 

I. 

SPEECHLESS PROPOSAL 

No word of mine won thee, too well I know! — 

Long silent at the sheer rock's edge we stood. 

Where, in a world so beautiful, so good, 
might any evil lurk? Their wilful "no" 
on your lips hovered, but for the whisper low, 

as to yourself: — "If love were love, how should.... 

old earth be heaven!" At th' blush for all love could, 
low laugh'd the wind his blessed mirth to show! 

Waves of the sea, asparkle in the sun, 
wild waves of leafage! Breeze-blown clear song-spray, 
that gemm'd the soul! What scent-whiffs searching sweet 
breath'd from sunk blossom-reefs, when — half in fun, 

half earnest, — the rose I gave, you tossed away 

which the wind-driv'n song-sea wash'd back to your feet! 

216 



II. 

LOVE'S HUMILITY 

Hush, list, the audible waver of tender leaves, 
the flutter of blossoms in the air's green-gold — 
past which the throstle darts; and how the bold 

shining array of spears, that fend from thieves 

dew-treasures atwinkle in the grass-bed, heaves 
with anger at his advent! Sweets untold 
lure eye and heart; even the open harrowed mould, 

purple-brown shadowed, gladdeneth whoso grieves. 

Thro' acacia bloom snowing from green cloud-drifts 
'twixt rose-blue lilac hedges, passeth by, — 

purer than the glistering core of a dew-bead 
in th' lily's sheen-white chalice lifted high 
from soilure golden, — One whose innocent gifts 
desire miraculously and prayer exceed. 



III. 
PARADISE GAINED 

"O Dearest, was it thou that wentest so 

in Eden unguarded, and in maiden-wise 

caressed each bud that kissed thee, with dream-eyes 
so serious-gay, from under brows aglow 
with the candor over them? Alas! Pray, go, 

go with thy smile. Love, — leave me, tho' there dies 

a soul in me for every step . . . despise 
thy adorer! — With sister lilies stand arow. 

"For who could thy free look of trust endure, 
thou queen of me? Go, with my soul's one love. 

Awe seizeth me. Thee I wooed? O pride and pain! 
in cloud of heaven withdraw thee! I here abjure 
earth's claim to thee!" Hark! — thrush-song from above 
cleft my dream sky! Nay, FuU-of-Grace, remain! 

217 



IV. 

PARADISE LOST 

I got me an hour — my own — of the hoarded sum 
Time doles out loth to his grave-delvers for pay. 
I scanned my occult coin, dream-borne straightway 

amidst the thrill with thee, the glimmer and hum 

of bygone springtides: boughs, adventuresome, 
flung warbled challenges from spray to spray, 
piercing-sweet wind-whiiis censed the holiday 

of squirrels and violets for th' Winter of Death o'ercome. 

Paths, ferny, at random meandered and crisscrossed. 
A loose-blown bloom-dance free in blithe mid-air! 
When for sheer frolic wantonness: "Where," I cried, 
"Hide th' old fall'n leaves — hopes crimson and gold- 
that died?" 
Looking reproach you faded. Ah, where, where?— 
My innocent Eden of an hour was lost. 



SUDDEN SPRING. 

What myriad spears of grass and sabres sheen 
weighed down with orient dew-gems glistering! 

In lairs of leafage savage-fanged between — 
see, the tawny dandelion crouch to spring! 

Ten-thousand hands for the breeze with amorous zeal 
to fondle and kiss float daintily unwithheld! 

Bride-veils of buds strive, blushing, to conceal 
ambushed blue twilights of the sun expelled. 

Shoots, like some delicate child, for pity ask. 

Foolhardy clumps forgat their foliage shield, 
and, blossom-helmeted, in the hot sun bask, — 

swoon, and voluptuously their honey yield. 

So sudden and sweet, and various and strange 

came Spring, came love — God's wonder-work of Change! 

218 



VI. 
ORCHARD OPTIMISM 

O fragrant fleeciness of orchard snows! 

My lavish apple-trees, your honeymoon 
is at the full. The brisk air gleams and glows, 

at this good hour of the sun-happy noon. 

Freighted with myriad nectar-laden craft 

of shiny sail, whose ports were your rich bloom, 

their cargoes stolen the while the petals laughed 
at jests and compliments of buzz and boom. 

What all this beauty and glory for, dear trees? 

This gorgeous unthrift? Have I understood? 
O tell no lover, for his keen eye sees 

e'en your sound hearts right thro' your ancient wood: 

Ye live, ye love, and in your gladness give 
your best to all — if they but love and live! 



VII. 

LOVE'S COMPASS. 

Were I ten thousand miles from one dear face, 
I were not far, meseems! For, if I sought 
at night the depths of starry heavens, and caught 

the rays that journeyed centuries through space 

to reach me, leaving in the gloom no trace 
of their swift flight; — it were a happy thought 
how earth, our giant orb, had shrunk to naught, 

a mote, unrecked-of in a luminous race — 

half-star, half-starlit — circling round its sun 
of molten gold; a bower of fragrant bloom 
leaving its orbit sweet; with seas empearled, 
lost for its littleness, — though dear to One 
whose silver censer 'tis; — lo. We, for whom 

He made it, kiss in our sweet, insignificant world I 

2ig 



VIII. 
BODY'S ABSENCE 

I may be near thee only when mine eyes 

can sound the depth of thine? When to a word, 
spoken in rapturous worship, come, scarce heard, 

from close warm-breathing mouth thy dear replies? 

Must yet the while life's chance wills otherwise, 
and hand can hold not hand, bliss die deferred 
till sense discern what ne'er the heart so erred 

as to mistake for thee — mere soul-disguise? 

Day-dreaming, faces strange draw nigh; but thou 
retirest vague, of whom alone I dare 

no wilful image frame. O then forgive 
if knowing thee unspeakably too fair 
for a more intimate revelation now. 

Love in thy body's presence needs must live. 

IX. 

FANCY OR FACT 

Ay, musing, faces strange crowd close and peer 
deep in my eyes; till, if I question them 

they fade in dusk, but soon, again, draw near: 
why to their sight will you my soul condemn? 

For you retire in some dim fastness far, 

impregnable to fancy's boldest host; 
and when I think of all you truly are, 

no vision comes — only a shadowy ghost. 

O then, my Love, indeed you must forgive 
if love refuse your bodily sight to miss, 

sound of your voice, caress of hand, and live 
in fullest gladness only when we kiss! 

Worship the work of Phidias for divine — 
ye eyes who never saw the God, as mine! 



X. 

INDIVIDUAL INSUFFICIENCY 

In fever of new-born thought I strode forth strong 
to conquer all, for the shackles of brute fact 
and rusted custom broke. Set free, I lacked 

naught the soul craves, and drew^ deep breath and long 

till — flesh, dissolved, — the hideousness and wrong 
we know thro' it, undone, — the whole compact 
mass of hostilities to man annulled, — my act 

my thought seemed all there was of th' stellar throng. 

"Alone! Alone!" That pitiful cry drave back 
my spirit to the body's dungeon-keep, 
foiled, miserable, aching, limited, 
far from all things desired, in void and black; 

gyved with traditional chains to work and weep! 
What were it to be God, alone — and dead? 



XI. 

MUTUAL SUFFICIENCY 

Love, mutually confirmed in hope and trust, 
our spirit's flood — if of the world denied — 
with jubilant swell topples its towers of pride, 

and drowns in pure green deeps its fires of lust. 

Yet, affable, (should it allow that dust 

is naught, love all), see, swiftly home we glide 
to our twain visible selves, — as ebbs the tide 

sun-sparkling, to its antique limits just! 

From non-existence back, with tolerant nod, 
welcome the world! Through torrid rows of wheat 
we stroll, and rest by streams, or breathe the air 
intoxicant on dizzy peaks; — glad of this sweet 
short day of limitation which we share, 
till mounts the dawn of some new Morn from God. 



XII. 

PERSPECTIVES 

Life's sea of waves foam-helmeted, rank on rank 
in truceless bitter strife with fierce hoarse roar 
break angrily against the rock-mailed shore, 

whereon, since the sun's orb of red fire sank, 

hangs hopeless gloom, some stars in mockery prank; 
and ghastly sobs half-heard, are heard no more — 
cries suffocated, as from who foreswore 

existence, leaving hold of a floating plank! 

Life seemed not such to us: lucid, serene, — 
a sun-warmed lake, the fragrant land-airs skim 

as swallows, whereover flies love's happy boat, 
(merry wishes the oars thereof) to some dear dim 
outlet of wood-edged creek from the world remote, 
where kiss two lovers as — seeing the Unseen. 



XIIL 
WILD-GOOSE CREEK 

Yea, so it was. Lost utterly to view 
between twain walls of glistening reeds we stole, 
following the creek's sly windings, O my Soul, 

tinder low-arching boughs; and each well knew 

the other's thoughts unspoken: I and you 
silently merging to a nobler whole! 
birds warble our bridal, forget-me-nots unroll 

legends, on either marge, of heavenly blue! 

Our vows none heard save waterlilies white, — 
stars, once of old down-slidden to feel the cool 
of stream and rest of fragrant obscure days. 
They long foreswore the heaven's vain rivalries. 
Ay, who would change, dear Stars, for heaven's high rule 
first love's shy irresponsible delight? 



XIV. 
KNOWLEDGE OF GOD 

Nowise yon flower at th' river's edge conceives 
the River's course and nature; nor explains 
his will to give, by compensating gains 

imaginary: unexplained she leaves 

his sparkling vesture (sun, or full-moon weaves), 
his unintermitted laugh in summer rains; 
thirst all she knows; and the quelling of its pains 

by th' unknown Lover, whom loving, she believes! 

Why may not also we, of Love unknown, 
divine the glory by our human share? 
As when her soul yon flower sheds on the air, 
feels in her bliss the bliss of the great River, 
knows in herself, the indiscriminate Giver, 
her petals to a dance of rapture blown? 

XV. 
TRUE LOVE 

Oh, Love, how false we be, shallow and slight, 
how rash of vow, and craven of daily deed! 
Pride, vanity, ambition, profane greed 

our gloom with alien glamour to unite, 

assume thy Godhood's guise. Hydras whose bite 
maddeneth, (whose self-propagative seed 
must perish not ever wholly in man) rear, freed 

at thy feigned fiat, and the soul affright. 

How kennel again life's fierce hell-hounds of lust, 
unleashed in youth's foolhardy over-trust? 

Fire-sword in hand, the roused Will can but slay. 
Grief, bosom-sister of Love, such power hast thou 
to exorcise, hallow, and heal? Lead, lead even now 

back to the inviolate shrine thy footsore way! 

223 



XVI. 
SELF-SURRENDER 

Myself, Love, have I given without reserve? 

Who can grant more than all he hath? If poor, 
poor be the donor's gift. Why therefore swerve 

from the path of faith to love's acceptance sure? 

All that was mine I gave thee, and more — my will, 
for thy sake laying to man's whole birthright claim; 

vowing adjustments fiercely versatile 

to shifts of chance, defying fame and shame. 

Ah, who hath self then in so certain hold 

to make surrender instant and entire? 
Let me but challenge self to fight 'high-souled — 

Love's champion true, — to conquer or expire; 

And, without blast of horn or shrill of fife, 
thine the still glory of the life-long strife. 

XVIL 

UNSHARED FEARS 

Lone night of life! Long gloom that sundereth — 

when shall it pass? Wake up, Love, do not sleep. 

Grim half-seen horrors thro' the blackness creep, 
and grisly sounds rush by with th' chill of death. 
We are not twain, with One beside? Our breath 

is drawn from a vast spirit-haunted deep? 

We are not ever alone in Love's safe keep? 
Watch with me, thou whom heaven's truth halloweth! 

Crazed am I? Ha! Thou seest, hearest nought? 
Needs must I wait till light stream thro' the skies 
for comfort? — friendless now for sleep's dear sake? 
What? Never may our souls be nearer brought? 

Starve must we for love's smile, by each personal ache 
sundered, until superfluous at sunrise? 

224 



XVIII. 
LOVE'S IMMORTALITY 

"Ah, loving, to be loved till life have end!" 
So cried we, swaying in our craft of dream 
launched on the ghost-white seas that wave and gleam, 

and round black crags of jutting woodland bend; 

while mocking-birds, across the moonhaze, send 
auroral flashes lightning-like, that seem 
fiute-greetings to Love's unset sun supreme: — 

"Ah, loving, to be loved, sweet fellow and friend!" 

Since, lo, what clefts of stifling gloom; — and One, 
whom blood of the slain centuries cannot sate, 
sin-manifest, gripes all with sway of hate, 

bruising ideals, flower-children of Love's sun! 

Ah, foolish Doubt! Death such, and Lord of Fate? 

If love be — life, and love — in death begun? 



XIX. 
ENVIRONMENT 

My dainty Tree, that flauntest gay in air 
the hoar-frosts and froth-snows of New- Year tide 
in challenge to the spring-sun's golden pride 

of warmth; dost Thou, white solitary, share 

my joy in thee: alone so frail and fair, 
among coarse rough-bark red-oaks, that deride 
thy alien useless beauty; — every side 

their envious sombre frown, and scornful stare? 

"Full well her worth she know'th," one, passing, saith: 
"Proud so to shine unrivalled; yea, alone!" 
But at my side, one nigher to thee akin, 
sigheth and murmureth, awesmit, under breath: — 
"Where beauty is scorned, and holiness unknown, 
believe, and blossom?" Ah, heavenly heroine! 

225 



XX. 
BRIDAL DREAM 

One huge perpendicular peak stands islanded 
in torrid plains to the sky's smoldering verge. 
A giant scales it, maddened by the scourge 

of hate for a world stark and gross and dead. 

Into the blue he lifts his blazing head 
and shades his eyes. Below, all things should merge 
in glare unsufferable: — a snow-soft surge 

of cloud sleeps prone upon the wind instead. 

Beautiful 'neath her hair's flood of rich gloom 
her glory with tumultuous longing heaves, — 
which, terrible, his love as lightning cleaves, 
dissolving in a sunlit storm of bliss, 
whereat the waste world bursts in song and bloom. . . . 
And the Dreamer wakes a dreaming Bride to kiss. 

XXI. 
THE MOTHER 

O beautiful wife, lying so still and pale 
in the godly patience of true womanhood; 
what wondrous smile as tho' in sooth we could 

to thee be something! Thy wistful looks exhale 

a fragrance heavenly, as lily of the vale 
or dewy wildrose white. And O how good 
to watch thee scan — while near thee hidden I stood — 

our little One — vision for which words fail! 

Thou being such, the worship my soul pays 
to be called love, too pitiable it seems! 
My glory still this ruinous debt to own, 
and thine to be above the reach of praise; 

whom, as the sun, Love's bliss rewards alone, — 
the prodigal spending of thine own bright beams. 

226 



XXII. 
LOVE'S MELODY 

"What age, my dearest, would I have thee seem 
in heaven?" If God doth grant the spirit's prayer, 
mine be it to evoke (absolute swayer 

o'er divine seas of memory and dream) 

thee, thee of each successive glory and gleam: 
her that doth beggar — extravagant repayer 
of love's poor gift; her, ravishing gainsayer 

that doth, denying, grant the grace supreme. 

Mine th' apple-cheeked, sloe-eyed, and cherry-lipped — 
the Child; and mine the lithe, blythe, serious Maid; 
and mine the Mother hallowed of strange joy; 
the rhythm and melody of thee, — that dripped .... 
star-dew from mystic Rose that cannot fade! — 
So would I, all eternities employ. 



xxin. 

LOVE'S HARMONY 

But thou dost fear that such high play should tire, 
conjuring ever thee, thee, only thee? 
Hope's twinkle of starshine, dance of sunny glee, 

gloom of despair, white flash of noble ire, 

dusk of great awe, dawn-raptures that expire 
in glare of common day, moon-mystery 
of twilight-longing; these should breed ennui, 

often recurring, till they slew desire? 

Then let there also be. Dear, counterpoint 
of manifold resource, subtle surprise: 

thee, thee, thy multitudinous selves, the notes 
in ever new procession; and every wise — 
Thee simultaneously from choric throats 
to ever new joy-miracles conjoint! 

227 



XXIV. 
INCARNATION 

Fool, who the body of honor due deprives! 
All beauty but reveals the spirit's urge 
and will divine, that sweet extremes shall merge 

in fashioning new forms for lovelier lives. 

'Tis Love in flowers breweth honey, and Love in hives 
storeth it. Ever one old splendor's dirge 
another's birth-song! The creative surge, 

foam-crested, still with roar of joy arrives. 

O body, beautiful, pure, rapturous, warm — 

who would in some seventh heaven to be up-caught, 
insult thy glory; thine, visible holy form 

of noblest soul, and extreme recompense, 
oracular to sane enamored sense 
of marvel and mystery too high for thought? 



XXV. 
LOVE'S SILENCE 

Nay fool, poor fool! Th' perfervid lover's prayer — 
It is not sacrilegious. God to man 
must manwise speak his mandate; else who can 

on earth hear, heed? Not He the heart's bewrayer; 

of love, He clothed in beauty, disarrayer! 
But wouldst thou verily end what He began, 
out-thrusting forth the fury under ban, 

whence flesh and soul. Accuser, and World-slayer? 

Not so deluded we. Thy lover asks 
thee bride, friend, comrade, Beatrice, Aspasia, 
immaculate, adorable, — uttermost bliss 
of body and spirit — as heaven for all vain tasks 
of earth-life striven-in; and as euthanasia 
(if death be utter death) thy dying kiss. 

228 



A VISION OF NEW HELLAS 



TO THE MUSE 

Great was the joy of vision — the surprise 

of its first flash upon my spirit's eyes; 

happy the prospect of the poet's work, 

and proud the will no slightest task to shirk 

imposed by One, who gave me to behold 

part of His beauty — seen by men of old 

in Hellas. Nor could difficulties shake 

resolve — however sore the throbbing ache 

of fevered brow and temples. Whence endued 

was thus my soul with sacred fortitude? 

From whom the patience, till the stubborn brain, 

once more obedient to the spirit sane, 

in ecstasy toiled? From thee, O best One, came 

the best: thy praise reward sufficient, and thy blame 

in hesitant look and tone, supplying will 

for onset new. Thou who dost so fulfill 

all prayers of mine for truth, beauty, and good, 

in thine own self, thy blessed womanhood, 

dream-radiant eye, and subtly smiling lip, 

making earth heaven in the dear fellowship 

of thee and me, — thine be the reader's thank 

if never the song to ground exhausted sank, 

if on it sped, still spurning baser things, — 

strong pinions spread of twin imaginings," 

to leap the chasms that broke athwart its course; 

thine be all joy therein — mine the remorse 

that with such help the song should not surpass 

all songs sung hitherto. My shame, alas! — 

yet as thine eye, O Dearest, I consult — 

in what is thine shall not my spirit exult? 



229 



THE FORESONG 



The civilization of 
his day, (symbo- 
lised by his city 
in most odious 
ttmospheric condi- 
tions,) fills the 
poet with a dis- 
gust of living. 
Yet he climbs a 
hill (of Hellenic 
culture) thence, 
to take, above the 
smoke-pall of sor- 
didness, his last 
look at the heaven 
of all encompass- 
ing beauty. 



Industry cannot 
of itself seem 
noble, nor justify 
existence. 
Its modern pro- 
portions but be- 
little the soul. 



I. 

Out of the town, 

drench'd by a penetrant 

wind-driven dust of rain, 

fast-gluing to the walls soot-flakes 

from grimy house-tops swept; 

paving courts, alleys, streets 

with a viscous mire; compacting 

the smoke-roof, propped by towers, 

spires, factory-chimneys, that threaten 

under the mass enormous 

to topple, and smother all life 

with gloom and stifling dismay; 

out of the dusk, wet, slime 

of the hideous town 

my soul was fain to escape — 

stand on some dominant height 

for a moment, — behold 

once again the heav'n bare, 

vibrant with sun, — 

or die! 

II. 

For, one forge 

of Hephaestos, the lame God, 

seemed modern civilization. 

A million anvils ring 

with the blozvs of his sledge; to view 

dissolving, on axles of light, 

the huge wheels dizzily gyrate; 

vast, — as of Titans, in Tartaros 

fetter'd, — adamant knees 

protrude, fold, stretch 

with an agony rhythmical ; 

and the force of their breath 

convulsive, the electric might 

of their anger, by unwearying pull and push 



230 



scintillant beams convey 
in the service of 
pigmy man! 



III. 

For, modern civilisation 

seem'd but the temple profane 

whose God, — Hermes of liars and thieves! 

Yards, choking ivith goods, his courts 

of high praise; zuare-houses grim 

his places most holy; throng'd marts, 

(the booths, his altars!) shops, stores, 

and their counters for sacrifice 

constant — the sacred resorts 

of his popular worship. The streets 

his, with scurry of vehicles, 

whirr, rattle, roar 

of cars that transport 

votaries from shrine to shrine. 

On tracks, from all regions convergent, 

snort, bellow, 

shriek, jar with their train, 

locomotives, to freight quick and dead 

at phrenetical speed for His sake 

alone, zvhose victims, whose slaves, 

whose merchandise are all! 



And trade com- 
pletes the degrada- 
tion which industry 
commences, till the 
things of the spirit 
are held cheap be- 
cause unfit for 
barter and sale. 



IV. 



Hephaestos, artificer lame, — 

Hermes, covetous, ciinning, — 

Gods of our time, 

what have ye made of the race 

once human? No beauty, no valor, no love! 

Industry? — trade? — an ignoble war, 

man clutching the throat of his fellow 

to compel him disgorge his gold! 

Dishearten'd, dispirited, 

yet with one hope unavowed in my soul. 



Arraigning these 
only Gods, these 
effectively domi- 
nant ideals of his 
fellows, he did not 
admit to himself 
his hope of find- 
ing a consolation 
in philosophy. 



231 



/ cliinb'd the steep mount of culture 
Hellenic, for vision of better things — 
or, a scornful fareivell to the world. 



But -when above 
the smoke-pall of 
sordidness, he 
found the heaven 
shrouded by vast 
rain-clouds of phil- 
osophic pessimism 
and of religion 
falsely so called. 



V. 



Far roll'd soon under my sight 

astonish'd, the black voluminous surge 

of smoke — drear sky of who drudge 

in the city bclozv. But, up-looking, my soul 

cried passionate for instant release: 

no rift of the heaven so achingly crav'd! 

Overhead, a vague expanse — 

infinite cloud, — 

the general despondency thick 

atheistical, ivhence — cold 

wind-driven dust of rain! 

Nought, nought, 

for the baffled eye of the spirit 

but the grey illimitable, 

shredding out rags of zvilless despair 

loathly loose 

into the flood of crass murk 

infernal, zuhose tumbling waves at my feet 

fro til' d pitch! ■ 



232 



A SONG OF SONGS 



DEMETER APPEARETH 



I. 

Behold 

(if lore of names and of powers 

godly thou have, to assure 

fear-fascinate eyes) 

and declare, 

O rebellious soul, 

Who she be that walketh 

the welter of reek, as glebe 

blast-plough'd, gust-harrow'd, rain-sown? 

Mark 

(though shrouded in ample, grey 

mist-robes,) how shy 

moves She, and hesitant, — 

wont to solitudes only of fields 

for miles under noon-sun awave, 

where crickets, incessant 

make hysterical mirth 

lest whispers, (o'erheard from lips 

not of flesh in shuddering, heavy wheat-ears,) 

dismay the silly folk small 

who flutter, creep, bask in the weeds 

or the seams of the tolerant ground. 

What shine — 

wistful, unearthly 

not glad, — in her eyes? 

(Yet so, under banks dusk-green 

of heart-shap'd shields, fretted 

at edges, hang not the violets 

of coy delight their sweet heads? 

peep they not timorous, tear-twinkling 

at foot-sore passers-by?) 

Yea, and not sorrowful 

seemeth her mouth: 



There appeareth to 
the poet a vision ui 
of the goddess of 
harvest-home, who 
seemeth comfort- 
ed of some dole 
by a spiritual so- 
licitude for the 
weal of others, 
and self-oblivious 
beneficence. 



233 



kind, as of one who her best 

giveth, for meed nowise 

of devotion or praise, but of strenuous 

necessity, — love, so great that it knoweth 

itself not, simple, 

serene! 



The poet, atved by 
the deity, is 
drawn by the 
mother in her, and 
recognises the 
great Dcmeter of 
Eleusls. 



II. 

Who art thou, lofty of stature, 
noble of countenance, — hands 
extended as proffering solace? 
Mother of peace by endurance 
won, and of plenty wrested 
thro' sweat and patient abiding 
from soil else barren, I know thee! 
Dumb with awe 
at thy presence, shadowy 
Goddess, (whose virginal breast 
pillowed the turbulent 
sea-lord, earth-shaker, Poseidon,) 
dumb should I be, undesirously 
reverent, save that thy mother's 
palpitant heart, of tenderness 
infinite for comely Persephone, 
draweth, Eleusynian Demeter, 
to thee! 



III. 



The apparition or 
the poet's own 
spirit {which it be 
he cannot say) ad- 
dresseth itself to 
console him. 



Nigher she came, 

loving lips parted, and words 

sorrow-wise, spake she of counsel, 

of comfort holy (repose 

in tone, in gracious demeanor, 

in wonderful gaze benign;) 

so, that who utter'd I knew not 

(a voice in my soul? or the speech 

of her eyes, of her mouth?) 

the soundless confession of truth: — 



234 



IV. 

I 
'JRightly, O son, thou deemest telling the nature 

most ancient of woe-begone, loving Ones °f Demeter's im- 

I T ii- mortal sorrow, 

me! Is there gorge ,. , ^ , 

° ° whtch sprang of 

of distress impassable, heath snow-bound her joy in love, 

by savage winds harried, sun-scorch'd and her love of 

stony waste, untrod of my feet ■'"J'. 

in the day of cruel bereavement 

bruis'd sore, and bleeding? Hot tears, 

inconsolable, wept I not 

ages long? — Hearken my tale! 

The queen of plough'd lands, purple-mantled 

at dawn of the year, (through the quiet 

winter-nights wooed) to the storm-god of sea 

a daughter I bore. From babe 

in few days (or so seem'd they) 

miraculously budded she, bloom'd she 

to maidenhood gracious, — as sunbeams 

light-footed, like wells that up-bubble 

laughter-brimming. For hers, 

all bursting buds; hers, all uncurling 

fronds tender; all leaves, (golden-pale 

ere the sky of its blue tint them green,) 

hers alone: most belov'd, most lovable, 

yea, and of spirits the loveliest. Yet she, 

daughter of Goddess 

immortal, (mighty to bless, to curse 

with abundance or famine,) yet she, 

daughter of God 

terrific, (whose wave-steeds foamy-man'd neigh 

as they run, paw, leap, fierce-rending 

with bitless mouths the wrecks of stoutest-bow'd ships,) 

she, she, raped of the fearful gloom, 

bride of death, queen of hell? She 

not undying? Bare wold, cold flood 

eternal? — yet she — 

the blossom sea-father'd, earth-mother'd, she, she 

perisheth? 

E'er under heav'n hath woman, hath man 

235 



known pangs that I suffer'd not 

direr, acuter? The evil-eyed, gloating, 

my torment, insatiate, beheld. Not mine 

the refuge of silence that brooks 

no intrusion; to life 

without end, to despair 

everlasting, doom'd!" 



and also how she 
was comforted in 
her bereavement 
by a vision of the 
joy at the core of 
things, and all en- 
folding, — a joy 
sincere, unironical, 
self-commit nica- 
tive. 



V. 

"But out of the bed-rock of grief, stark, 

gelid, — no Zeus-hurl'd bolt 

could shatter, — of its own extreme 

tension asunder cloven, forth-gush'd 

Solace, a crystal-pure fount, that quench'd 

(as I stoop'd me fever-hot lips 

to cool) the death-thirst. Then I hated no more 

the order unchanging of causes, the chain 

link in link of events without first 

without last. Then, no more 

wept I, perversely, to see the sun's vigor 

of youth unabated; and over the shift 

and drift of low cloud, star-radiant still 

the blue firmamental, 

unwrinkled with thought. Then, then 

I perceiv'd, the Rapture (in all that is 

latent, and far outreaching beyond 

the uttermost nought) implied for cark and care 

human no scorn derisive: — reckless 

of mind-fret and heart-ache (strange 

to itself, and irrelevant) wherefore? — if not, 

in moment of passion's lull, hush 

of fury's exhaustion, — audibly sweet 

as a peace divine to intrude 

at length in the sufferer's soul?" 



VI. 

J ,, , "Aidoneus! Aidoneus 

Learning that 

death is the author Him I had curs d, bride-deflowerer,— mocker 
of life's glory, she at sport with rent petals, dead leaves,— 

236 



blighter, — scatterer — '^^Pf «" wor^ for 

spurner underfoot of the fair— ^^^^ ^'"' P''''^^'' 

whom never at heart (since hateful, sullen, 

foul,) I believ'd to be God, — in his very 

Self appear'd to me then, of living things 

maker; deviser of form, and of increase 

in might; cherisher, fosterer 

silent of beauty; whose mystical touch 

worketh wonders forever! Astonish'd, 

yet more I marvell'd that ever 

woe-misted these eyes of mine 

so blind became to mis-read 

the myth of the seasons recurrent. For, lo, 

is it not He who clippeth of wheat, 

of rye, the tresses ripe-sunny? and who 

if not He with flail of affliction 

from full sheaf driveth, (relaxing 

the hold of kindly husks) the bare grain? 

And whose if not His the harsh breath, 

to shrill tunes of scorn, as flurry 

of fine snow whirling aloft, under drear skies ashen, 

the chaff? From my hand, tight-clench'd, 'tis He 

snatcheth the choicest for seed 

in darkness to waste, damp-swollen, 

and rot? Yet v/ho if not He (as the corn 

under sun, for nurture of men 

ground, cometh in blush of maid, glow of youth, battle's might, 

cometh in mother's milk, joyous cry, laugh of babe,) 

who if not He in due season 

biddeth arise the new year's 

vaster harvests, ghost-pallid? Aidoneus, who, 

if not Thou 

God of death?" 

VII. 

"Wherefore, summer's Goddess, a rite And that mortal 

faithful and holy of loyal s^'^f '"'sht have 

T . 1 > iU > • 1- 1 immortal cure, 

sons I exact, whensoe er thro rich loam h r d h r 

by steer-drawn plough the furrow is cut:— heavenly wisdom 

with solemn jubilation, therein with such as ex- 

237 



perienced anguish newborn shall be laid an infant — the token 
like hers. ^y^^^ jj£g ^y^^ theirs, as of wheat, as of rye) 

upspringeth from th' gloom, death-begotten. For my soul, 

when the sense it conn'd of the mystery 

erst indiscernible, cull'd (dejected 

no longer) wholesome fruit — heart's ease, 

quiet cheer of well-doing — to men 

grief-smit the deep lore imparting in grove 

Eleusynian. And none whom I taught 

fear'd darkness thereafter, nor dust, nor cold sweat 

at the close. Aidoneus, of terrors 

grim King, most ruthful I showed to them. Her, 

(whom folk in their folly awful 

fabled, the daughter of Styx stagnant river 

corrupt, inexorable Queen 

of Hades,) to all I revealed as none 

other than pure Persephone, her lap 

heap'd with red poppies — oblivion 

of ache, of vexation, — yea and with white 

poppies, — dream-hopes of a whiter 

dawn. So the grief, 

my son, thenceforth at parting 

in glee of welcome is swallowed. The end 

lo! no end, — but start 

more exultant; the cycle of life no tedious 

round, — a ring for processional dance; 

and behold, even I, Mother Earth, the venerable, 

wax youthful again; 

and singing, singing with a myriad myriad 

stars through the thrill'd heaven's vastitude whirl, 

blissful; for, ever to Aidoneus content 

1 surrender my children, whom Aidoneus again 
forever restoreth 

more mighty, more fair!" 



238 



DIONYSOS COMETH 



The words of Demeter 
in my ears still tremulous, 
persuasively sweet ; — wind-wafted 
from the mingling of cloud-sky dun 
and the unquiet sea of dinginess — 
Voices as of maidens, for an alien grief 
tear-dew'd, but at heart 
life-glad, came gradually 
closer and clearer: — 



From the hori- 
zon's edge conteth 
sound of singing. 



Why sigh we and cry we, as nigher we draw to her, IVhen the words 

appall'd by her tallness and awful demeanor? '"'"' intelligible 

_,, . , , ., r -r^ , 1 1 *"^3' prove to be 

The violence and silence of Hades are law to her, ^ greeting to 

yet v/ailing seem'th sweeter Demeter to thee, Demeter; 

weeping than smiling, howling than laughter! 

Griev'd One, bereav'd One, thy child — hast thou seen her? 
Time now brings showers; yet unfailingly after 
calls the gay hours to delight us, yea, dry away 
tears from all eyes, v/hile our doubt-clouds fly away 

from the bright of the sky, and are drown'd in the sea! 



So fresh were the Voices 

and so full, youth-cheery, 

irresistible; — smiles straight followed 

in the wake of the sage words sung 

to a distinct rhythm of dance; 

and the mother of Persephone, the gracious, 

replied 
sweet-smiling to me. 
Once more, swell'd closer 
the melodious chorus: — 

239 



but the singers, it 
is clear, ignorant 
of her comfort, 
misconceive her 
mood; 



p 



and, wearying of 
lament, resume the 
praise of their 
chosen deity, as 
though the saluta- 
tion to another 
might seem dis- 
loyal. 



Ho! go you and show you a holier joy in him, 
employ you your voices in boisterous hollos, 

for know you not, know you not Semele's boy in him, 

with whom you would toy once, you coy Ones, of old? 

Noisily extol him, lowlily sue him! 
Woe doth he sow and a joy-crop follows. 

Lo! you owe homage and honor unto him! 

Grow you, O grow you, O vines of his choosing, 

flow you, O flow you, O grapes of his bruising, 

to the glory alone of your God of the bold! 



The sire of their 
God, acknowledges 
his glorious son; 



Then knew I, unseen yet, 

the devout blithe singers. 

But suddenly, loud roar'd Zeus, 

the cataclysmal. His clouds broke, cloven, 

and a bolt clear'd the atmosphere. 

Luminous the azure of the heavens through the rift 

burst happily in; 

sun-showers stream'd laughing 

from the frayed storm-edges. 



whereupon the 
Maenads {female 
devotees of Diony- 
sos) appear, and 
encircle Demeter, 



The surge of crass murk 

froth'd pitch no longer: — 

bronze-red, ablaze, 

hurtling to foam of gold, 

spurting quick spray of fire, 

tumbling in glory. 

For, leaping and crying, 

a rout of wild women, 

with faun-skins loose-vested, 

limbs gleaming, locks flying in whirl 

orgyastic, surrounded the mother 

majestic and calm: — 



240 



He Cometh, he cometh, ('Tis he! 'tis he!) 

young again from barbarous Thracia, 
to Icaria, the wild; o'er the isles of the sea 
from Phrygia, the rocky, and Asia! 
From the gloom 
of the tomb 

he came, he came — 
God of gush, 
God of flow, 

the same, O the same 
God of flush 
and of glow, 

and the uproar of flame. 



shtging of the ex- 
pected advent of 
Bacchus; 



Oh! heard ye not, heard ye not told and retold 

the story of his wonderful birth? 
begott'n of the Highest, he is God of the bold; 
of the Fairest born, God of their mirth! 
Speak out, 
shout, shout 

his name, his name! 
God of wine, 
God of fire, 

the same, O the sarne 
of divine 
mad desire 

of the death-leap, and fame! 



of his miraculous 
divine begetting 
and of his beauti- 
ful human birth; 



Blessed Semele, — ^virgin 

who daredst to die 
thy glory to merge in 

that of Zeus the most high,— 
passion-whirls that we surge in 

thy feet cannot wet; 
rejoice, O white virgin, 

where suns never set! 



of his virgin 
mother, now be- 
yond carnal stain; 



241 



of Zeus's wooing 
and recognition by 
her, 



The God of heav'n saw thee 

and lov'd thee, and wooed; 
lest his glory o'er-awe thee 

as shepherd he sued; 
but thou knewest him, Bride of God, 

thro' the human disguise, 
sweet Joy of God, Pride of God, 

Light of his eyes! 



of her rapture in 
the God. 



"O Zeus, who didst fashion it — 

my body be thine, 
so thou flash forth, God passionate, 

thy glory divine." 
In delirious surrender 

of rosy-hued flesh 
Thou didst cry: "Slay with splendor, 

and create me afresh!" 



The Maenads 
see their God 
a-far, and forget 
his birth in him. 



He Cometh, he cometh! 'Tis he, even he, 

son of Semele! — Hail, Dionysos, 
from the low, and the mean, and the base to set free,- 
from ourself, to thy height to entice us! 
God fearless, 
God peerless, 

O come, O come! 
At thy glance 
who, O God, 

can be dumb? can be dumb? 
Tread the dance, 
that ye trod, 

to flute, pipe, and drum! 



242 



HYMN TO DIONYSOS THE ELEMENTAL 
I. A young Maenad singeth 

y A young Maenad 

near us praises Dioynsos as 

to cheer us, God of elemental 

dire ^''^• 

God 

of the panting heat! 
Pray 
hear us, 
hear, hear us! 
Fire- 
shod 

be thy alighting feet, 
that in spasm 
volcanic 

thy mount may awake; 
rend open a chasm, 
and with panic 
earth shake! 
From the crater, 
Titan-hater, 

let the lava-streams fall, 
and char 
near and far 
as they luridly crawl. 
In thick dark 
sow the spark 
to enkindle the pine: 
higher, higher 
leap thy fire 
with a thunder divine! 



243 



II. Semi-chorus of young Maenads 

All the younger Qod of Swollen springs bursting; torrent-roar of wild force, 
Mae,,ads laud hi,n uprooting the trees, and damming its course; — 

as (joa of raging » •-' ^ 

water-streams °' floods, boulder-rolling, to the plain down-hurl d; — 

and of luxuriant of the landslip that crasheth on a slumbering world; — 
plant-growth. Dionysos, thy ravage 

at length hath an end: 

for thy violence savage 

is the wrath of a friend. 

Lo! thy vast vegetation 

upshooteth to cloak 

the seared devastation 

with pine, laurel, oak. 



An older Maenad 
prays to Dionysos 
as God of secret 
treasures. 



III. An older Maenad singeth 

O God of the mysteries hid below ground, 

of the bed 

of thy red 

gold gloom-hoarded, 

keep them ever impenetrable to light and to sound, 

from the smutch 

of the clutch 

of the sordid. 

So, the mystical treasures in deeps of man 

be thine, O God, only with glad eye to scan. 

Yet, at times (as thy river 

Pactolus 

of old 

for thy faithful adorer 

wash'd up nuggets of gold) 

when the anguish grows sorer 

than the proud soul can bear, 

with glimpse of our God-self, Life-giver, 

console us, 

and vanquish this human despair! 



244 



IV. Semi' chorus of older Maenads 



Man from good unto better must go, 

from better, e'er on to the best: 

thy guest in the life that we know 

is in death, that we know not, thy guest. 

God, marshaller of spirits victorious 

too great for earth longer to house, 

lead us, lead us to a world more glorious 

there to revel with thee and carouse! 

Thy grape-blood burns in our veins, 

and with madness our brains 

are on fire! on fire! 

We rise with thee, God, from the real 

to explore the eternal ideal — 

inspire us, inspire us, inspire! 

Heaven's freedom from earth-bonds that bind us 

let our spirits, O God, anticipate. 

For a moment the shadows that bind us 

dissipate ! dissipate ! dissipate ! 

We follow thee on, we follow — 

skim the air more swift than swallow! 

O ye wicked, ye fools, he hath sapp'd your 

foundations of carnal joy! 

Your lies no more shall win you us: 

ours, ours the ecstatical rapture 

of the Gods (Evoi! O Evoi!) 

the rapture of onrush continuous! 

(Evoi! Evoi!) 



All the older Mae- 
nads extol him as 
the God 
of immortality and 

spiritual vision. 



V. All the Maenads in chorus 



All hail to the God who died 
of man's woe, in man's stead, 
now deathless and glorified, 
King of the blessed dead! 
Maenads, wave, wave your 
green-flaming thyrsus 



Together all the 
Maenads hail him 
as the Titan-slain 
God who secureth 
everlasting blisses 
for the faithful. 



245 



as you leap for his praise in the whirl of the dance: 

hail, hail him the Saviour 

of incredible mercies, 

Lord eternal of fate, God the master of chance! 



THE COLLOQUY 
I. 



Demeter maketh 
known unto Dio- 
nysos her office of 
consoler, eliciting 
the human out of 
the torture of 
mankind. 



Their hymn of worshipful praise 

declaring the godhead 

occult of their Lord, 

to a close devout sung, — 

The God of the heavenly dew, 

a stillness ensued; and Demeter, lifting 

her eyes to those of the flush'd 

divine youth, became 

ancient in look, all the light 

of her wisdom veil'd. 

— "Art thou 
Demeter, mother of comfort from sorrow 
for men?" 

—"Yea, son," 
answered she mild, "by cruel 
hardship ever the good 
from the ill are dissever'd. Persephone 
fair, from the grave returneth whither 
she went with all mortals 
down; but the foul 
wax old in their death, and each 
(as memory in turn effaceth 
memory, recall'd in the mind) 
fades utterly out of the world. 
Wherefore, my worshippers so 
teach I pain 

and bereavement to bear, that they rise 
from brute up to man — 
his stature, dignity, calm." 



246 



II. 



"Well," — retorted the beauteous 

youth, his eyes as he spake 

awful with shine 

inhuman, — "Mother, 

well hast thou said. To man 

thou leadest; but I, 

unbeheld, drive on 

thy worshippers up to the god. 

Aidoneus, 

King of death. King of hell, 

is none other than I, who greet thee, . 

Dionysos, 

Lord of life. Lord of earth, 

leader of the blessed to the highest 

heaven. The good, who survive 

the law of thy Deity, they 

my quarry are, mine Dionysos 

Zagreus, pitiless huntsman, torturer, 

flesh-feaster, blood-quaffer, the barbarous 

God. 

Bruis'd, crush'd, 

shall the grape-berry be; whence, pouring, 

the life-juice transmute I to fluid 

fire! 

Yea, the hero, strong, brave, 

soul-fast, faithful, upright, 

unto death I pursue, that in death 

deified, 

they I maddened with murderous 

hate shall adore Him, (in death 

life-glories forth-showing they dream'd not 

in Him whom they slew, even me 

beholding, their God; and a love 

fervent for Him, shall breed of remorseful 

hearts — issue divine, 

heroes innumerous as stars in the heaven!" 



Dionysos replieth 
that his function 
is ever to express 
from the human 
the godly. He {life 
and death being 
mystically one) 
identifieth himself 
with Aidoneus 
{Hades, Pluto) 
and setteth forth 
his awful anthro- 
pophagous rite. 



of) me 



247 



HYMN TO DIONYSOS, THE HERO-GOD 



I. 



Semi- chorus of older Maenads 



Enthusiastic, the 
Maenads celebrate 
their winter orgies 
in the mountains 
to arouse the 
sleeping God of 
natural life who 
would else let the 
earth perish with 
him. 



What is it he said? 

Hath he fled? Hath he fled? 

Dionysos, the Hero-God, dead? 

dead? dead? 

Up, up to the barren hill-pass 

swept of winter-blast chilling, barefooted, barehead, 

ere manhigh the snow-drifts amass! 

We will drink not nor eat, 

but the hard-frozen ground 

we will beat 

with our feet, 

and Pan-hoof shall pound 

to drum and shrill fife 

till the Dead come to life! 

Bromios! Bromios! 

hark, the timbrel's hoarse roar, 

wail of wind, hoot of owl, 

scream of eagle, wolf-howl, — 

wilt thou lead us, boisterous God, no more? 

To the rhythm of our phrenzy, ye north-blasts, shriek; 

about us, ye snow-drifts, wheel 

and reel; 

till (the death-spell too weak 

for the God whom we seek,) 

He shall rise and his glory reveal. 

Lo, death is dead, 

and his spell is sped! 

Thou hast conquered our mortal shame! 



248 



and in their su- 
pernatural powers; 



Let the cymbals clash, 

and the avalanche crash 

as we summon Thee, God, by name. 



Semi- choruses of Pans 



We Pans, we Pans, The Pans glory in 

to butt and to gore fl^"'' deformity 

we have horns that are sore, 

and our legs are a goat's not a man's. 

Beware, beware, 

with our nails 

we tear, 

and we lash 

with our barbed tails. 

Like beasts, we rend 

with our teeth the rash 

who Zagreus, the huntsman, offend. 

We have ears as the lynx, 

and a fool! who thinks 

from the leer 

of our eyes to escape; 

for the snow-flake's fall 

miles off we hear, 

and a leaf-shadow's shape 

we spy through the thick night's pall. 



Woe! woe! to the Man — and threaten the 

though thou send emissaries of their 

. • God who shall 

dare, obedient to 
his hest, stand in 



who cometh, great God, in thy place: 

we will butt, each Pan, his room 

gore and rend 

him, 

and tear him limb 



249 



from limb! 

devour his flesh torn, 

lap and gulp his blood spill'd, 

till we free 

from the mask thy face, 

and see 

the quiet smile of high scorn, 

and thy spiritual eyes fire-fiU'd! 

FuU chorus of Pans 
3 



Yet they show that 
in the tragic death 
the God is glori- 
fied and the hero 
made truly his re- 
vealer. 



For blessed, thrice-blest, 

the death that reveals thee; 

of thy fury possess'd 

the great life that feels thee: 

and deep, deep 

the abysses be 

of terrific despair, 

that steep, steep 

may the blisses be 

whose peaks cleave the air! 

In the tragic death-strife 

from the blood-drunk sod 

springs the beauty of life 

that showeth Thee, God. 



250 



HYMN TO DIONYSOS, THE HERO-GOD 

II. 

Semi-chorus of the younger Maenads 

1 

O Pans, in the waste hill-gorges Enthusiastic, 

not vain were our mid- winter orgies: the Maenads an- 

for his earthquake answers nounce the vernal 

the tramp- resurrection of the 

God of natural 
^*^"^P life, and praise 

of dancers, him. 

in new-got strength 

appearing at length: 

Lord of fire, water, gold, 

wine, song, 

dance, mirth; 

the great God of the bold 

and the strong 

of the earth! 

O flute, O drum, 

O tabor and cymbal, 

back you'll us 

bring 

with loud scream, and leap nimble 

to the ancient hill-top bald! 

lacchos the oft-shouter, is come 

whom appall'd 

we call'd, 

yea, come with miraculous 

Spring. 

He hath sent a 

year of plenty 

that his faithful should fast not. 

The spell 

of dark Hell — 



251 



we knew well 

it could last not: 

lacchos hath overcome it! 

(how else could the strife result?) 

Up, up the sheer summit, 

you Bacchic rout, 

to exult, 

as ye raise 

the shout 

of his praise, 

in the heat of his mystical cult. 



They describe his 
advent to the 
heights, athwart 
the flats, and the 
wild rush of his 
'worshippers to 
meet him with 
shout and dance. 



On a chariot swift-drawn of panthers and leopards 

at dawn he appeared to the terrified shepherds, 

Silenos alone for fellow! 

and, behold, 

the meadow he dashed thro' 

grew gold, 

as his god-glory flashed thro', 

with narcissi sunny-yellow; 

and roses wine-purple, flame-tawny, lily-white, 

burst abloom in his lightning track; 

the vines hung big clusters of berries, in a night, 

grapes glaucous, grapes sanguine, grapes swarthy blue-black; 

the trees of the orchard, the trees of the forest 

became quick-quivering, high-roaring, fire-tongues of green. 

'Gainst death with life's beaut5% O lacchos, thou warrest 

the whole world to make lustrous, tho' thyself be unseen. 

Wherefore in festal glee, brandishing torches 

aflare, thy mad maidens (as pours the volcano 

a lava-stream lurid that seethes and that scorches) 

to the valley 

forth-sally 

to the plain, to the plain, O! 

to meet with laughter, peals upon peals, 

jubilant hollo and yell, O! 

lacchos the God who our rapture feels 

and Silenos, his master and fellow. 



252 



Chorus of Satyrs 



Not one of us, fierce quaffers 

though we shamble, totter, stagger, 
not one of us, coarse laughers, 

in the train of the God is a lagger. 
We are goat-thighed, like Pans, and lascivious, 

obscene in our humorous jests; . 
yet, O Maenads, of your lips why give ye us, 

of your waists, no joy, and your breasts? 
Too fleet of foot, agile, alert, you 

fly on in your spirited folly. 
Yet, O Maenads, no Satyr would hurt you, 

bliss-drunken, and amorous-jolly. 



The Satyrs pro- 
nounce themselves, 
for all their base- 
ness, true servants 
of the God. 



Little know ye your God if ye scorn us: 

your God, He also is ours; 
for Silenos's sake love hath he borne us 
and a function assigned to his powers. 
Dionysos, the only God, jealous. 

He hateth a rival base. 
Then who be men's idols, tell us, 

whose favor they seek, and grace? 
Ours, ours is the God's commission 

to shatter their images, 
cleave faith from superstition, 

distinguish what seems from what is! 
Stalk forth thou bragging claimant 
to worship! 'Tis we who shall settle 
the debt to thee owed of the fool. 
We must make thee enough, yea quick payment 
in truest, most precious metal 
of comical ridicule. 
The people with laughter we initiate 

in the mysteries of heroism divine — 
would ye wish yet more gods to propitiate 
having known once the supreme God of wine? 

253 



For, as tragedy 
arose from the 
anthropophagous 
feast, so comedy 
began with the 
drunken revel. 
Theirs also is a 
high, if not the 
highest, office. 



THE TRANSFIGURATION 
I. 



The effect of the 
hymn of worship 
showeth itself in 
a revelation to 
their eyes of the 
God's glory. 



Lo! while 

the elder Maenads, intoxicate, chanted 

the winter-praise boisterous 

of Bromios; while 

the Thracian huntsman (harrier remorseless 

of human game, Zagreus, man-eater) 

the Aegipans ferocious 

loud lauded in madness of savage 

rites gory; the while 

maiden Maenads, grief-ignorant, 

of lacchos, earth-quickener, soul-kindler, 

ecstatical sang; and v/hile 

the Satyrs, mock-awesome, Dionysos exalted 

(foster child of Silenos, their chief,) 

for the exhilarant laugh 

of his mouth; — behold! 

in his votaries' midst, the one 

Lord of their various moods 

shone transfigured — and, ringwise 

environed with multiplied visions 

emanative, drave 

Maenads, Pans, Satyrs back, 

extending their circle of worship, the more 

at the center his Godhead forthflashed. 



For from Dionysos 
emanate the Dry- 
ads, the Oreads, 
the Naiads, the 
three Charities, 
and the Muses 
three— ^various as- 
pects of his deity 
separately embod- 
ied. 



II. 



Of bush and of tree the chaste spirits 
into being first leapt, with leafage 
arrayed, happy Dryads, blossom-crown'd, 
their arms all together 
upthrown, wildly waving green boughs 
in his honor; the Oreads, shy, 
the Hill-nymphs, scarce veiling 
with misty robes their lithe shapes. 



254 



hand-in-hand glided; and next 

the Naiads of bubbling wells, 

frolic brooks, shamelessly glad, 

flaunted as briar-roses fragrant their bare 

bodies light-dartling, dewy-wet 

from the pure and cool element. Thus 

ring within ring 

expanded, until, to right 

and to left of the deity, gleam'd 

(their locks tight-loop'd lest a ray 

of their naked effulgence, a line of their grace 

be obscur'd,) the Charities three; 

and, as holy as they, their virginal 

beauty from eyes profane 

close-drap'd, reflecting the fiat 

creative, their sisters three smil'd — 

the Muses. 

III. 

Gntranc d The transHgura- 

the order'd, yet waywardly fleet <'"<'« " completed 

interlacingS I watch'd ^^ *''^ appearance 

of the complicate dance: the shimmer, ?i ':ZnT Z 

the white glow of limbs; the sweep midst of all the 

float, flutter of drapery; the floor glory. 

of shine aquiver to the numberless 

trip incessant — feet of light 

diffusing quick spiritual rhythm, unheard 

of the ear, as perfume strange 

from tropic flower 

intense, bewildering 

the mind. Then I turn'd 

to scan the noble serene 

countenance kindly of mother 

Demeter. But, sudden her eye 

with bliss unwonted elate, 

(as of strange recognition, immediate, 

incredible,) straightway the beam 

of her gaze I foUow'd 

perforce. And lo! 

255 



at the palpitant life-god's side 

a tranquil apparition of girlish 

loveliness, — blue vein'd temples, and hair 

wheat'n-yellow, with poppies enwreath'd! None other, 

assuredly none than the sweet 

Persephone, so 

with utter trust as a child's 

the God's hand could hold, or as she 

look in his dreadfully glorious face, 

with bride's proud blushful regard. 



Thereupon Deme- 
ter embraceth her 
'child, and ad- 
dresseth words of 
love to her. 



IV. 

Demeter's heart brimm'd 

visibly full, and ran over 

with blessedness mute. At length 

her emotion mastering: "Child," she cried, 

"O my child, thou of Spring's swollen buds, 

of silken leaves pale, of velvety fronds 

that ravel, of blossomy shoots, — speak, speak,- 

is it thee, my own, I behold? 

Art thou, in very truth, spouse 

of the great life-giver? Aidoneus 

rap'd thee not? bare thee 

not hellward? in hideous gloom 

secluded thee ne'er? Or, perchance 

hast thou chang'd him, thou 

with thy love, from cruel, obscene 

King of dearth, desolation, despair, 

to a God of exuberant excesses and lustrous 

beatitude?" — Reverently still 

the tumultuous host of the God's 

adherents became, as Daughter 

and Mother, long-parted, embrac'd 

speechless; and Tree-nymphs, Hill-nymphs, 

Water-nymphs, Charities, Muses, all 

fastened with tender 

delight on the Twain their eyes, and not few 

the holy tears that with bliss 

of reunion 

starrily sparkled. 

256 



"Daughter dear " at last Demeter now in 

Demeter resum'd, "well knew I indeed ^^^ !°^, ''^'"r'" 

• 1 T , 1 /■ . ^> .-. , hereth that xn her 

ere sight I had of thee, Child ^^.^..^ ^,^,„, 

only-beloved, all, all Aphrodite 

that befell thee. But knowledge, appeared to her, 

(unto mourners expounded of me """'' ""* °^ ^''''**- 

,, , , V .- 1 1 . • -r tude, she wisheth 

through the ages,) faded, the instant I saw „^^ ^^ _^^^^„„ 

thy face, to memories vague her into life again. 

as of some wild adventure, dream-heard, 

impossible. For verily. Child, 

my child, oft they, who when sorrows 

oppress have belief, if they meet 

face to face the desire of the heart 

are incredulous utterly. 

Now that however I know 

what I knew, and believe, 

well-knowing, — all that ere this I well-knew, 

believing — no phrenzy predictive 

seizeth my soul; but clearly 

methinks, and in absolute calm, 

I foresee such coming of thine 

with thy lord unto me, 

not without blessing for man 

shall have happen'd. My power, of thine 

seconded. Daughter, availeth 

from dark non-existence to call 

Aphrodite once more, the beauty 

of flesh to the light of the world, 

that She 

the broken-hearted console, and help 

the life-loathing; — as once thy mother 

of old She strengthen'd to bear 

bereavment unspeakable, — yea, with a promise 

sure of to-day's encounter. For what 

signified else her smile 

insistent, persuasive, unless 

even this it declar'd: that never 

257 



from earth, sky, sea, could the beautiful 

wholly pass, or perish 

from body and spirit of man? " 



VI. 



Dionysos acccpteth 
Demeter instead 
of his lost mother, 
Semele, and De- 
meter loveth him 
as a son. 



"So be it even as thou, 

Mother, hast said," replied the bloom-goddess 

turning in alternate joy 

of heart and soul from parent 

to lord, from lord 

to parent, — a yearning unknown 

to herself, beyond speech, in her look. 

Yet each, understanding, eyed 

strangely the other, one probing 

instant; and first, Dionysos in her 

his mother beholding, (rever'd 

Semele, from infancy mourn'd,) relax'd 

his scrutiny, extending a hand 

adoptive; and she, Demeter (the wise 

from experience of ill, the glad 

in goodness perpetual,) knew then in Him 

the son divine of her soul. 

But aware of the triple felecity, no longer 

repressible, the Naiads burst into praise: 

Aphrodite, the queen, hailing, — the blessed, 

the beauteous, who, unwitting, 

gave to the sorrow-bowed strength 

of endurance, and hope to the soul-sick 

of yore. 



The merry Naiads 
sing of their ow<t 
childish sport; 



THE HYMN TO APHRODITE 

1 

Gay spirits we of leaping wells 
trickled unabash'd 
over moss'd knobs, rough fells; 
thro' dingles, bloomy dells 
tinkle-tinkle weplash'd; 

258 



in hill-hollows rallied, 

we rush'd with loud laughter-screams; 

spray-spurting, dilly-dallied 

in iridescent, foam-pallid 

green pools for day-dreams; 

then, 

again, 

wild, uproarious, 

all, together, we leapt 

with the waterfalls glorious, 

and ocean-ward swept. 



Wondrous news from sandy shore-lands 

we heard of the summer-breeze; 

for far never, never far 

are 

the heights of jutting forelands 

from the spume of Hellenic seas. 

Dionysos, O imperious, 

bid our sisters, — Nymphs of Nereus, — 

recount us the marvels as they be; 

lest they tease us, worry, weary us 

gay Naiads, tho' we emanate from thee! 



but, hearing 
strange gossip, 
they implore that 
their 

father command 
the sea-nymph $ 
not to withhold 
the trttth from 
them. 



O Hill-nymphs, O Tree-nymphs, 

why stayed ye at home? 

for we saw all the Sea-nymphs, 

joj'-drunken, toss the foam. 

Aphrodite 

that morn, 

the mighty, 

was born 

a girl-babe merrily 

cradled of a wave: 

and they caught her 

(sweet daughter 



They are reward- 
ed for their fran- 
tic race to the salt 
sea, by a vision of 
Aphrodite's birth. 



259 



she, of blue sky, blue sea) 

yea, and bare her off verily 

to a crystalline cave 

with frolic and laughter and boisterous glee! 



They relate cir- 
cumstances of Iter 
rearing and tell of 
the miracles 
wrought by her 
maidenly beauty. 



Bubbles, pearls, corals and goldfish red 

her pretty childish toys; 

hide-and-seek, with the Nymphs, o'er the deep seabed- 

a rollicking, innocent noise! 

But quickly their foundling, their foster-child 

her playmates outgrew and their games: 

hers the girlhood mild 

sweet, undefiled, 

whose beauty the sea-brute tames! 

To men and to Gods it is time she be shown 

in her loose locks of amber array'd, 

that the sea wash her feet with motherly moan 

and the blue sky acknowledge the maid. 



Her journey, on 
the day of her 
showing to sky 
and sea, is de- 
scribed as a tri- 
umphal progress to 
the sacred isle of 
Cyprus. 



In a concave billow 
they lay her down, 
white arm for soft pillow, 
gushing curls for gay gov/n. 
O'er the silk-smooth pellucid boat 
stretch a rainbow-woof sail — 
to hill-horned Cyprus float 
bark fair and frail! 
Her attendants summon clamorously 
light Zephyros to blow. 
Lo! he panteth, heart-amorously, 
and flying they go! 
The Mermaids laugh, sing, 
and for gladness upfling 
their beauteous arms bubble-shiny; 
whom the Mermen escort 
with hollo and snort, 
260 



eyes on fire, cheeks swollen, beards briny. 

From his ram's horn sends the Triton 

lustily 

skyward a musical jet; 

sea-horses splash, dolphins spout: 

gustily 

mounts the spray, scattering, to light on 

the naked Goddess, her maidens devout, — 

an attire many-beaded of twinkling wet! 

Sly old Proteus her wizard forerunner is 

to quell the waves' turbulent riot; 

behold! heaven's glory upon her is, 

and before her the vast sea's quiet. 



Chorus of the Charities 

FINALE 

Between sister and sister no disparity 

of beauty age or degree; 
we are each a gracious Charity, 

one in love, but in loveliness three. 
Yet we hail thee, Aphrodite, who art fairer 

than we be in worshipping eyes: 
who soothest with hope the despairer — 

thy beauty than wisdom more wise. 
Thy grace never waneth, ever waxeth 

immortal Delight of mankind! 
Thy hold on our hearts who relaxeth? 

for thy smiles are the bonds that bind. 
Thou makest living joys out of griefs that are dead; 

as thou walkest, silver-footed, the day 
lust-monsters writhe under thine airy tread 

whom thy naked lustre doth slay. 
The Gods, yea, men likewise, no longer fear 

the glory of flesh and carnal pride 
if Thou, O peerless, O sane, art near — 

for by Thee are they purified. 



The Charities 
cheerfully ac- 
knowledge her su- 
periority to them- 
selves and highly 
extol her holy 
virtue. 



261 



THE RECONCILIATION 



I. 



Dionysos declareth 
that indeed it is 
now high time 
beauty {Aphro- 
dite) be once 
again associated 
■with use. 



Holy Mother, sage and good, 

heard have thy ears 

even now, ravish'd, my lightsome 

Naiads, my Charities 

spiritual, utter in cadence the praise 

melodious of Her 

that shall once again charm, 

(thou hast said,) 

as in days of their youth, 

mankind. 

For verily, O Mother, 

long hath lasted the night 

already 

of toil, unhallow'd 

by joy in the task; 

the night — all eyes blinding 

but such as glare cat-like 

with criminal craft; 

too long! 



II. 



He comments on 
the story of beau- 
ty's having 
wrought relief 
from acute sorrow, 
whence, in due 
season, Demeter's 
wisdom; 



When grieving well nigh 

in Thee, immortal, the goddess 

had slain, thou wast sav'd 

by the life-joyous smile 

that in sorrow's despite 

a smile responsive compell'd 

ajar to set 

the doors of thy soul's 

prison? And slid 

not Hope in tiptoe, and close 

at her heels, Desire of life, her lover 

constant, who took 

each a languid hand of thine, 

leading with tender violence 



262 



out of thy cell dark, grim, 

bare, Thee, to freedom 

divine once more? 

Yet, as therefore Thou to the Cyprian 

Goddess the debt unpaid 

rememberest. Mother, so I 

to the son, Delos-born, of Leto 

owe a friend's undying thank. 



III. 

Phoibos Apollo! 

shimmer quick-shifting 

of streams that upwell and outflow; 

shine of my gold wash'd pure; light-ray 

of my fire volcanic; oracular 

counsel uttered at large 

from my core unconscious 

of things; the vision's preternatural 

clearness in them I intoxicate; truth 

serene, (first dimly discern'd from height 

ecstatic, whither the spirit 

I lifted,) in hours of intelligent 

quiet remember'd and understood; 

O Pythian Phoibos Apollo 

who slayest ever anew 

with arrow of sanity 

the monster of over-faith. 

Thee of the peak Parnassian, twin 

mount unto mine. Thee, Thee 

will I summon from agelong sleep! 



and resolveth on 
his part to arouse 
disinterested intel- 
ligence (Apollo) 
from long slum- 
ber; 



IV. 

For, nowise 

Demeter, O Mother 

true of Persephone, thy child 

I ravish'd, pain to inflict 

on one who lov'd her, and whom 

not knowing I therefore lov'd; but assur'd 

thou couldst never my heart's passion know, nor fate's 

263 



recalling the serv- 
ice it (Apollo) 
rendered to enthu- 
siasm (Dionysos) 
by making the lat- 
ter gentle and 
sane. 



doom irreversible 

whereby thou borest Her, and didst rear 

to maidenhood only that mine 

she should thenceforth be; assur'd 

that v/illingly not 

to any couldst Thou, 

her mother, yield 

one so desirable; therefore 

forc'd was I, Lord of life, 

in the odious guise of the Ghost-god unreal 

on Her whose favor I crav'd 

violent hands to lay. 

But thereafter my soul's own brother, 

Apollo, the fierceness extreme 

of my deity ancient, sooth'd; 

so that even Persephone, timid 

and gentle, could forgive, 

nay, her ravisher cherish as now! 



Aphrodite and 
Apollo will both 
develop the body, 
each one viewing 
it as the supreme 
means to all good 
ends. 



V. 

Behold, thy labors 

(O Mother of Her who is mine 

and thine) shall be match'd 

by labors as gladsome. For Thou 

of the rude and gross, (the pressure 

continuous of pain ennobling, 

refining,) wilt fashion, by little 

and little, the beauty of golden 

Aphrodite again; while I 

from the stony-hard gloom at the stroke 

heroic, death-dealing, at length 

shall elicit the fire and the light 

of the Loxian. To grace 

She shall perfect, for service 

of love, the body; which He to feats 

athletic will hard'n at the hest 

of the manly mind. With charm of the lovely, She 

and with hope, assuageth men's grief; 

while the end afar off perceiving. He, 

264 



clearsighted, by knowledge controls 
the passion that else, rebellious, 
would reason overthrow. 

VI. 



So, sweeten'd thy memories 

of the old bereavement shall be, 

that never again couldst thou wish, 

Mother Demeter, the past 

alter'd in ought, or the fatal 

decree overrul'd. The rougher 

the rind of life's fruit, 

the sweeter the juice thereof 

express'd from the seeded pulp! Nay, wouldst Thou 

again to reach the broad, warm, 

fertile plains of peace, not press 

thro' the icy gorge of anguish — 

feet bleeding and bruis'd — 

once more? 



Dionysos express- 
eth the true 
philosophy of af- 
fliction. 



THE HYMN TO APOLLO 



1 



Ever, from the womb 

of the witless hour, 

(of her beauty and power 

unaware,) — 

the wisest thoughts of man 

are born, 

most holy and most fair. 

Ever, from the tomb 

of a right 

men 

scorn, — 

wingeth, 

(singeth 

in death's despite,) 



The Oreads sing 
(by way of prelude 
to their hymn of 
Apollo) the praises 
of Leto (the hid- 
den) his mother. 



265 



a spirit again 

of godlier might. 

Ever, from the gloom 

of the cloud-hid night 

folding the earth in sadness,- 

springeth 

at morn 

the Lord of the light, 

and King of azure gladness. 



They remember 
the fall of Zeus's 
clandestine wooing 
of Leto; 



By the banks of the stream 

of sleep, 

and the lake of dream 

still, deep, 

the dark Night stray'd 

a starry, chaste 

maid, 

and dipped her feet in the water 

to wade; 

when the white 

sky's Light 

his splendor effac'd, 

to glide 

undescried 

as a lustrous, proud swan to her bashful side. 

But, alas! of his ruffled plumes unafraid, 

alas! for the woe he wrought her, 

poor maid. 



and recount how 
she fared at the 
hands of wicked 
mankind who had 
not heard thereof. 



The home she forsook of her girlhood, in shame, 

and sought out a lone spot to die; 

yet soon for her child's sake, unborn, she came 

to abodes of mankind far and nigh, 

in Zeus's name, the hospitable, food 

humbly imploring, and shelter. 

But, boorish, men void of pity 

thought scorn of her plea; women, rude, 

266 



insolent when they felt her 

sore plight, jeer'd, foully- witty: 

"What? Zeus? God Zeus was thy lover! 

'twere impious to doubt of his truth; 

so we dare not provide 

for thy want," they cried, 

"be assur'd his sky-roof guest-friendly will cover — 

and the bread of his board feed — the bride of his youth!" 

That, cruel, the shaft 

her sick heart might pierce 

when Leto totter'd and pal'd, 

they gloated and laugh'd, 

and in mockery fierce 

her as maiden-mother they hail'd. 

Little knew they that ever God claimeth 

the child by man unclaim'd! — 

Woe, woe! who a mother shameth, 

forsaken — for he shall be sham'd! 



Horror smitten, of their lowland and highland 

men saw a rich vale, a steep hill 

by Zeus, thundering, riven: — an island 

afloat at the waves' wild will! 

And swift with the current it carried 

the outcast far from their sight, 

while the coarse women, maids yea, and married, 

lay prone on the earth with affright, 

Lo! in seabound Delos, the manifest isle, bereft 

of all human comfort and aid, 

writhes Leto, the hid, in a rocky cleft, 

of the awful end afraid. 

With child of a God, sore be her throes; 

loud-shrieking, is her frail flesh torn, — 

then, utter hush ensues and repose. 

Is it death? Nay, Apollo is born! 



Zeus Cometh to her 
aid, miraculously 
fashioning out of 
a promontory the 
floating isle of 
Delos, where her 
travail overtaketh 
her. 



267 



Leto is bidden note 
the power and the 
love of Zeus, in 
that he hath trans- 
ferred to Del OS the 
rery stream and 
lake on whose 
batiks he won her; 
and the portents 
in honor of her 
son's birth are re- 
hearsed. 



Mother Leto, awake! 

What? Mopos the stream 

of life's sleep, 

and the azure lake 

of love's dream 

still deep, 

aflash with the sun's clear rise, 

do thine eyes 

not recognize? 

Dost thou not feel the earth 

immense 

under thee heave and shake 

with a mad, convulsive mirth? 

Hark! the depth of grey Ocean vents 

in waves of applause that break 

on shore-sands shiny, his joy at the wonderful birth. 

The winds waft fragrance ambrosial from sky-banks aflower; 

victorious palms, laurels lustrously ever-green 

leap from the crag, and the hillside bare, to embower 

Thee, mother of daylight. Thee, Leto, unseen! 

Flocks of swan-cloudlets from Asia come swimming 

thro' air and encircle from East unto West 

seven times, the risen Apollo hymning, 

the sacred isle that offer'd thee rest. 

Palm-pillars of gold, laurel-capital'd, vast, 

up-shoot from truth's unplumbed ground under-sea, 

the rocking cradle of myth to make fast 

forever, in honor of him and of thee; 

and the Cyclades all, at the blaze of his power 

shall encompass it, footing a miraculous reel, 

transform'd to cloud-islands, at the magical hour 

when the burst of his innermost glory they feel. 

In welcoming cheer, in musical hollo, 

let Naiads, let Oreads, let Dryads unite: 

All-hail, O Apollo! O Apollo! O Apollo! 

God, newborn, of the risen sun's light. 



268 



Litany of the Muses 



FINALE 



Of music, of dance and of song 
we 

Three 
be 
mystical Muses 
To our Lord and sire we belong 

and the Soul that for His he chooses. 
But O best-beloved, brother 

of Melpomenos, noble Apollo, 
we pray that he bid us none other 

but Thee of all deities follow. 
For thou art oracular shower — 

true fore-knower; 
of things as they be, calm seer, — 

fear-freer; 
of the heart's revengeful ire 

purifier; 
when Thou bendest thy golden bow — 

woe! woe! — 
the white bone it will pierce with its arrow 

to the marrow! 
For, O Pythian hater of disguise, 

craven lies; 
who lovest the frank and the fair 

that will dare 
look Thee, pure God, in the eye — 

yea, die 
but not merit his own soul's scorn; — 

Thou hast sworn: — 
who cowardly hatreds cherish 

shall perish; 
to back-biters and knaves Thou wilt send 

sore end; 
but the old, — kind death shall obtain 

without pain 
of Thee, who men's piteous ills canst feel, 
and with death, or new life thy suppliant heal! 

269 



The three Muses 
petition Apollo and 
their sire, 
surnamed Melpom- 
enos, that they be 
never required to 
follozv other deities 
than them twain. 



So, we Muses of dance, of music, of song, 
to Thee, noble Phoibos Apollo, 

and Melpomenos, only, our father, belong 
and no stranger Gods ever will follow! 



RIVALS DIVINE 



I. 



The company di- 
videth, one side 
preferring Aphro- 
dite to the left of 
Persephone, and 
the other side, to 
the right of Dio- 
nysos, particular 
votaries of Apollo. 



As their praise of the Loxian 

the Muses three, ended 

in joy of faith, not without awe 

or wondering love, — the host 

of worshippers, subdued 

by the singing, divided in twain 

ranging about the emanative 

splendors, (seen first in ardors intense 

of devotion,) a crescent to right of the God 

Melpomenos: — his Muses white-clad, 

his Hill-nymphs diaphanous-shrouded, 

his green-garmented Dryads of trees, 

and the terrible Pans, the jeering 

Satsnrs, awaiting his nod 

to renew their clamor. Likewise 

a crescent to left of the fair 

Persephone: — the Charities three 

in snows of nudity 

chaste, the Naiads light-footed 

with eyes asparkle, the Maenads scarce 

held from resuming the dance 

orgyastic, (thyrsus in air 

and locks loose-tumbled, dappled faun-hides 

ill-cloaking shoulders wine-stain'd 

and voluptuous rosy-tipp'd breasts,) 

by the stilling look of the bride 

of their God. From the instant's hush 

unendurable, loud for sheer bliss 

cried a Naiad: "Hail Aphrodite!" 

and answering an Oread 



270 



shrill'd out: "Apollo!" Then each, 
interrupting the other's flow 
of rapturous song, alternate 
pursued the praise of her chosen 
deity, with reasoning melodious 
as rival birds 
of the new-leav'd bush: — 



II. 

Love ye the Goddess of gracious full being? ^ Naiad and an 

Oread sing by 
turtis, and, effectu- 
ally merging their 
rival hymns, illus- 

She, of the tyrannous affinity trate the fitness of 

fast knitting wholes of the several parts? 



Know ye the God of delighted clear seeing? 



the deities for 
spiritual union. 



He, stern sundering divinity 

who searcheth things to their secret hearts? 

Behold, it is She refineth 

to surfaces smooth all substance material 

for the ray of the sun to illumine and warm — 

Behold, it is He who shineth 
and maketh alive and light and ethereal 
things coarse, dead, heavy, with spiritual form- 
Yea, of Her is the splendor caught 
to the gladsome eye refracted; ' 
beauteous form made real 
for the human hand's persistent 
soft, insatiate caress! 

By Him, from chaos and nought 
things order'd, shap'd, compacted, 
mirror the soul's ideal, 
and are nigh'r to man when distant — 
subtiliz'd to loveliness! 

271 



Her function to set the senses ashiver, 

(when heart is sick, 

and spirit is blind,) 

an immediate assurance procuring 

of the wealth and the worth of the world — 

His office the heart from sense to deliver; 

He rouseth the quick, 

inquisitive mind 

with a mystery ever alluring 

in the inmost folds of it furl'd! 

Who but She can save the mind 

from idle self-beholding? 

for Hers is the beauty of ebb and of flow 

in the manifold tides 

external: 

Whose the praise if men divin'd 

the world's gradual unfolding? 

in changes and chances, the shine and the show, 

what is sure and abides 

eternal? 

Aphrodite, thine alone the flower of living and breathing flesh! 

O Apollo, sun-extracted, thine its perfume dewily fresh! 

Through Thee feeling and loving — and art to bid death 
defiance ! 

Through Thee seeing and knowing, and man's life-mas- 
tering science. 



272 



VOTIVE GIFTS 

I. 

Then gratulant outspake, benign, Demeter fortelleth 

the Mother: "Not twain *^^ marriage of 

are our labors, nor match'd shall they be iTZdZtiJnc!^' 

merely, as thou hast foretold, (Aphrodite and 

but mated, rather; for which Apollo). 

without either hath life? Well, meseems, 

and wisely thy maidens have sung 

their mutual need. Yet, in days 

of virtue Hellenic, long-past (the former 

youth of the Gods) discontent 

drove them abroad over earth; for not 

in Olympos found they the sweets sufficient 

of fellowship utter as yours, 

my children! Though whence 

this foreboding gladsome, beyond 

pious doubt, I know not; but hark! 

at the break of the day of their earliest 

meeting, the Maid, scarce aware 

of her deity's dawn, with the Youth 

(Him of sight. Him of mind, in Her 

fully shown to himself — 

Her of touch. Her of heart) 

shall in wedlock be joined. And who 

if not ye, their love with pledge 

of progression shall cheer, with votive 

gifts from lovers expert to lovers 

still in the best of their joy 

uninitiate, — that day of supreme expectancy, 

prime of united lives?" 



II. 

"What boon," Persephone prom- 

Persephone, blushing, "'*'' wedding 

,.,«,,, J , i i-. J Snt^ — and Dtony- 

replied, shall we dole unto Gods, ^^^ -^ ^^;^^^ ^^^^ 

lovers? The Charities three the prophetic fury ; 

273 



of beautiful giving, and taking, and using, 

gladly I grant to the Bride, shall she visit 

Eleusis, the eve of her happy 

espousals; and surely, Dionysos 

Melpomenos, Lord 

of rhythm and phrenzy poetic, will 

on the Bridegroom, his dearly lov'd brother, bestow 

the mystic Muses of dance, music, song." 

The God's smile her words affirming, — behold 

the gaze abstract of his eyes 

took aureate lustre from worlds mist-molten, 

remote, (whose life with passionate dream 

prenatal, throbbeth in fire-seed;) and straightway 

his lips parting, — one shudder 

thrill'd, beatific, the worshipping host 

entire, (by fury predictive attain'd,) that each 

in his own soul only the words 

of the nuptial prophecy caught. 



whereupon he ut- 
tereth a marriage 
blessing upon the 
twain, proclaiming 
their joys of love 
and triumphs of 
their progeny. 



III. 

Aphrodite, 

Eucharis, full of grace, full 

of charm, with thy Charities three, from whose hands 

are fair living, and loving; 

Apollo, 

Musagetes, leader frank 

of the sisters three, who translate 

man from earth-struggle to care-free 

altitudes human; the time 

of your blessed return impatient 

the world expecteth for aeons of righteous 

peace without end. And lo! 

it prepareth for you the privacy 

bridal, the couch creative of infinite 

rapture divine; that fatefully, 

fearfully drawn must ye be to bowers 

where droop hot roses 

their crimson heads close, 

face by face; and about them hills 



274 



rise, as in icy array defensive, whose tall 

lilies in winds of unconscious desire, 

ring out their laughter-peals 

fragrant. And thither, O thither 

the mystical will of the life 

self-perpetuate shall tyrannous urge ye, 

sweet love-maddened lovers; there, mouth 

to mouth, ye shall know not self 

from the lov'd one apart; and the lilies 

moon-silvery erst, are sun-fulvid 

with pollen-stain rich; and the roses, 

burst open, storm crimson petals, — 

awhirl as they fall, in sign 

that the flesh, with voluptuous reluctance at last, 

panting, admitteth the mind's 

penetrant stern resolve. 

Such shall the anguishful 

gendering of Gods be, for jocund 

birth instantaneous. Rejoice, rejoice, 

O ye who the ancient Olympos 

rul'd, that, more absolute these — more adorably 

fair than of yore yourselves, — shall effortless fell 

the Titans, your foes rearisen; and aloft 

the summit sublime of the sacred 

mount, rear homes eternal, whence 

their sway shall extend all-potent forever 

o'er a nobler, a larger mankind! 



HYMNS HYMENEAL 

I. General Chorus 

All praise Dionysos, T'/ie gods of 



Eleusis are praisea 
for the sincere wel- 
come they extend 



Demeter, Persephone, to your united divinity! 

Your glories suffice us — 

blossom, fruit, life-seed, — great Eleusynian trinity, to more recent 

We laud you forever claimants of wor- 

that hospitable ye are in your gracious affinity; l'"^ by Maenads, 

... . . Satyrs, Pans, 

devismg new pieties ;V3-m/./^., Charities, 

that tighten, Muses. 

275 



not sever, 

th' old bonds of devotion; 

(the streams of our worship not lost in the ocean 

the dead-sea of a jealousy bitter and dumb, 

our longings not drown'd in a lonely infinity,) 

we exalt you for hailing unbegotten societies 

of Gods that shall brighten 

the ages to come. 

II. The Muses 



The Muses set 
forth the necessity 
of polytheism. 



For the Gods are many and various: 
the good things that men love and desire. 
The life of the world were precarious 
if it burn'd not with manifold fire. 
Men's ideals, — flame-gods, aspirations, 
rare excellences, heroisms sublime, — 
be innumerable as races and nations, 
as moods of man, moments of time. 
But the heights know each other, saluting 
athwart the vast plains of low land: 
(the worship of each not confuting 
the worship of all,) hand in hand 
the glorious mountains enring us 
old earth of the animal strife; 
and together, one in spirit, they sing us 
the paean of man's divine life. 



III. The Charities 



The Charities burst 
into a hymn unto 
the ancient Eros, 
God of love, ever 
young, ever wise, 
ever glorious, God 
of gods. 



HYMN TO EROS 

Yet who 

shall renew 

man's universe? 

restore to it 

a splendor pristine? 

in the bath of cleansing fire immerse? 

give more and ever more to it 

of the passionate heat suns kissed in 

276 



ere cool'd by the impious curse? 

of the pride in spiritual might 

ere fell on man's bloom a blight, 

and the better was deem'd the worse? 

O Eros, sole god-head primeval, 

invisible witness thou wast 

of the continents' upheaval, 

from the warm love-languorous sea; 

and again, the whelming urgence 

of waters that boil'd and toss'd 

o'er the slow voluptuous submergence 

of the lands — from whom but from Thee? 

Thou — atom to atom alliest, 

commingling the alien and strange, 

dissevering the likest and nighest, 

allowing no ultimate rest; 

and marshall'd from chaos dismal, 

undergoing mystical change, 

the molecules stellar and prismal 

crystals compose at thy hest. 

Thou givest flow'rs color and fragrance, 

and honey, that, pollen-shower'd, 

unawares the air's sunny vagrants 

to perform thy sweet tasks be empower'd. 

Thou givest, many-hued 

iridescent 

plumes to the birds; yea, throats 

to trill, warble, pipe, whistle, incessant 

subdued 

or triumphant rich notes. 

Of Thee, in thy season, all creatures 

have special terror and grace; 

softening man's fiercer features, 

flushing maid's meekest face. 

Of Thee, all friendships, heart-duties, 

devotions to social good, 

all ardent faiths, luminous beauties, 

pure manhood, strong womanhood. 

Far to near, and upper to nether, 

lest they cease from being divine, 

277 



th' very Gods thou knittest together, 
and their glory and honor is thine. 
O Eros, the new ages shall feel Thee 
binding earth and heaven so close 
that lowliest souls shall reveal Thee 
th' High God in the common and gross! 



The Nymphs laud 
the divine issue of 
wedded Apollo and 
Aphrodite, predict- 
ing the condescen- 
sion of the god- 
desses to human 
lovers. 



IV. The Nymphs 

The God of daylight, the Goddess of form aglow 
O ancient Eros, 'tis Thou shalt affiance: 
and glorious the race of new Gods that shall owe 
their being to wedded Art and Science. 
They shall dwell not idle in sky-courts remote 
high-wall'd on perpetual blue above cloud; 
nor shall incense that men to their honor devote 
make them careless, cruel, ignobly proud; 
no heav'ns shall they promise their worshippers 
which never the living can hope to enter; 
nor teach scorn of Earth, and all that is hers, 
on themselves men's devotions to center. 
They shall live on the heights, but heights terrestrial 
of difficult — yet possible — ascent; 
master, not slay, in man what is bestial, 
to subserve the divine intent. 
Nor icily chaste, without radiant issue, 
shall the Goddesses, wondrously beautiful, 
in crystal houses 'neath spreads of gold-tissue, 
dream, languorous, on couches of cloudy wool. 
For the haughtiest hath — an Endymion, an Adonis, 
and wotteth some trysting-spot hallowed and dear, 
where she with him and her love alone is 
in wood or glade, by fountain or mere. 
Because, never ideals can wed one another 
though chosen manly spirits they may 
blessedly love; but twice blessed the mother 
of a hero who extendeth o'er earth her sway; 
and thrice blessed the hero, the half-divine 
who in his — reflecteth his mother's face, 
whose gentleness, purity, sweetness refine 
and ennoble, in living and dying, his race! 
278 



V. 



O the Gods of masculine might, 

the splendors eternally fated, 

in vain with man would fight; 

not so could they wrest of him 

the truest, the best of him: 

for their cruel perfection hated. 

But, as Semele granted her beauty entire 

to Zeus the wielder of heavenly fire; 

as Danae yielded (when a storm-shower of gold 

fell through green boughs of hope) in the passionate fold 

of his arms, to his fierce desire; 

as once Ariadne, the woe-begone, 

tearful awoke in the blushful dawn 

to wed the wine-rapturous God of the bold; 

as Clymene fair of hair 

bowed dim in a flare of air 

radiant and hot from her sunbright Apollo; 

so the maidens of earth shall in ages to come 

be wooed of the gods in terrestrial disguise; 

and whithersoever they flee, will follow 

Love with lustrous, worshipful eyes. 

Of ideals joy-begotten and born of earth-agony, 

womanhood grander shall visit mankind, 

courageous, strong, swift of foot, unable to flag on a 

skyward ascent of spirit and mind; 

beautiful, pure of soul, feminine evermore — 

sisterly, motherly, wifely sweet: — 

might of brain, grace of heart, time shall not sever more 

married in womanhood final, complete. 



The Maenads 
shout jubilantly 
and extol the wis- 
dom and justice 
shown in the mat- 
ing of their godly 
sons to maids of 
earth. 



INTERLUDE 

Satyrs — O Pans, fierce Pans, they have prophesied 
the death of your savage day! 

Pans — O Satyrs, Satyrs, they lied, they lied — 
t'is ye who must first give way! 

Satyrs — Nay, Apollo will slay the hum.an beast, 
and man no more on man shall feasts 



Satyrs, Pans, and 
Maenads are 
doomed not to 
perish, but to en- 
dure a beneficent 
transformation. 



279 



Pans — Aphrodite will conquer with a smile 

your drunken lusts, and your laughters vile. 

Maenads — O Satyr, O Pan, why quarrel for naught? 

Not perish shall Ye, but a change endure: — 

Satyr to laughter joyously pure. 

Pan to a terrible courage of thought. 

So shall ye serve man loyally both; 

while, soothing the wilder in us and the rougher, 

we Bacchic maidens as surely must suffer 

the ache, and the bliss of a spiritual growth. 

But in all that man thinketh, and feeleth, and 

willeth, 
and in all that he doeth, shall he own our control; 
an enthusiasm, oblivious of self, that fulfilleth, 
with a holy confidence, body and soul. 



THE BANQUET OF THE GODS 



The water-nymphs 
see Aphrodite en- 
throned with Apol- 
lo in New Olym- 
pos. 



I. 



1. The Naiads 

Aphrodite Eucharis — 

'tis She, 

in robe of dazzling dews 

(see, see!) 

throning aloft 

pure, gentle, soft! 

The locks — of Apollo beside her — diffuse 

halo of sunny bliss, 



glory of many hues! 



Tree-nymphs de- 
scribe the forest- 
shaded road that 
leadeth up the holy 
mount. 



2. The Dryads 

Tell us! what shining street 

winds up Olympos sheer? 

not surely for happy human feet? 

Can men and matrons, youths and maids 

breathe air so pure? 

280 



a lustre endure 

that fails not, nor fades? 

feel of the Gods no stifling fear? 



3. The Oreads 

O happier, devouter race! 

yours no penance, pleadings 

humiliant, 

hero-sorrows vicarious, 

and sore 

intercedings; 

but footstep resilient 

and life-glad face, 

as ye come with jubilant cry 

in labyrinthine-various 

processional dance, 

each, boldly to occupy 

a rightful place 

in the festal hall:— 



Hill-nymphs tell of 
human processions 
ascending with 
ease and jubila- 
tion. 



4. Chorus of Nymphs 



Ice-shiny floor, 
cloud marble wall 
and roofing expanse 
of sky 
over all! 



Together the 
Nymphs shout for 

joy at the splendor 
and vastness of the 
divine house. 



II. 
1. The Charities 

Then at the board shall guest with host, 
Man with God sit down; 
flowers spring forth that each loves most, 
each crown'd with an odorous crown; 
of pearl opalescent the massy dishes 
are pil'd with all fruits that grow; 
greetings of love, and pious wishes 
set every face aglow! 



Whereupon the 
Charities praise the 
banquet at which 
Demeter dealeth 
out her broken 
bread of sorrow, 
feeding the soul to 
holy strength; 



281 



Then, lo! 

Thou, Demeter, 

shalt solemnly, slowly, 

for Gods alike and for Men, 

break bread 

most holy — 

(than all meat sweeter — 

the loaf of grief and bereavement 

ground, kneaded, parch'd with fire,) 

that strengthcneth to great achievement, 

and maketh the fed 

aspire! 

2. The Muses 



and the Muses add 
thereto, that Dio- 
nysospoureth forth 
for all the blood 
wine of heroic 
self-immolation 
that inspireth and 
rendereth divine. 



. Dionysos, then, to their broken bread. 
Thou wilt pour 
more and more 
in crystalline bowls 
iridescent, 
the juices fire-red 
of grape-clusters bruis'd, 
sweet-scented 

with virtuous herbs aromatic: — 
the hero-blood that from death-wounds ooz'd 
as the slayers too late repented. 
O Wine by worship of grateful souls 
fermented; 
O Wine effervescent 
with the final bliss of self-sacrifice 
ecstatic ; 

O intoxicant Wine 
without price 

from life's death-vat divine, — 
beget in each drinker, 
the lover's rapture Elysian, 
the poet's fury, the prophet's vision, 
the serene world-sight of the thinker! 



282 



3. General chorus 



Praise, praise everlasting 

to Thee, O Demeter 

to Thee, Dionysos, Thee daughter and bride 

Persephone, — holy Gods of Eleusis: — 

Thou who feedest the fasting 

to nourish the spiritual life of the eater, 

thy food sanctifying for worthiest uses; 

Thou who quenchest the thirst 

for the best in the worst, 

till at length their desires be satisfied; 

Thou who bindest with love the Twain 

in One; — 

As on earth so in heaven ye see it is: 

all thanks be due, 

and all honor is done 

to them who chose pain, 

not pleasure; 

great-hearted service, not griping sway; 

who their might superhuman to measure 

build up, give life, — not demolish and slay! 

Wherefore, O noble Eleusynian deities 

we vow perpetual worship to you: 

wherefore thro' the ages for ever and aye, 

though new names ye receive 

again and again, 

no Gods more than You will we serve and believe, 

sung of children, lov'd of women, hallow'd of men! 



The Maenads, 
Satyrs, Pans, 
Nymphs, Charities, 
Muses, all togeth- 
er, exult in the 
greatness of the 
Eleusynian three, 
assuring them per- 
petuity of worship 
and the tender re- 
gard of men to the 
last age of the 
world. 



283 



THE AFTERSONG 



The final chorus 
hath caused the 
poet to fall into 
an ecstasy; 



From the confluent torrents of praise 

delirious waxed the dithyramb' s 

worshipful fury: 

a vortex of rapture 

symphonious, fast-swirling, 

spray-bursts of clamor irrepressible, 

gurgling eddies in eddies 

of laughter, along on its surface 

of melody; breaking 

its uttermost edge to ecstatic surf 

'gainst hill-shores reverberant, 

its own violence engulfing 

in the abysmal deep of itself. 



so that he hath a 
vision of the city, 
erst foul and 
dark, made pure 
and full of light; 



II. 

Rapt to vertiginous pitch 

above seeing and hearing, my soul 

soar'd immobile in hush and void; 

till again life-aware, no vision 

deific disturb'd her incurious content. Below 

stood flecklcss my city, ethereal, clear; 

relucent with quii'ering wet 

from the holy wash of the rain; 

gables, chimneys, towers, pinnacles, spires, 

to crystal transmuted, clove eager 

the vitreous, light-vibrant air; 

sparkl'd, gleam'd, flicker'd, flar'd, flash'd 

in the downpour of sunshine, whence swollen 

the fulgurant gold river flowed large 

to vanish behind proud heights 

whereon lean'd the verge of the sky. 



284 



Then, a szvift assurance of my mind '"*<^ straightway he 

took unreasoning possession. Before me comprehendeth the 

II • I I /• I/-III meaning of the en- 

was the foretold zvonder m symbol fulnlld: ^^y^ vision. 

coarse stuff of earth, deem'd hitherto foul, 

now illustrious zvith spiritual ardor; quick beams 

into wastes of dark nothing hurl'd 

uselessly forth, iix'd now 

in substantial splendor for man. 

And, as Demeter, ancient mother 

of sorrow, as Dionysos with blood-spotted 

garment, the bridegroom, undaunted 

of death, (in mystical fellowship held 

at Eleusis by love for the daughter, the bride 

Persephone,) hail'd Apollo, 

Aphrodite hail'd, (in the myth 

of my dreaming,) their beneiicent 

sway to divide o'er the fortunes of man: 

So, Life 

with studied iniquity 

dealing her doom of anguish 

selective, that the many thereby 

become few or barren, while the few 

mother many in their forfeited 

room at ease; 

So, Life 

inspiring his chosen 

the impossible to dare, with folly 

of w-ill, that the few thus perish, and live 

in the marvel of the many a multiplied 

life of lives; 

So, the world's 

dire powers propulsive 

(at one in their passion alone 

for unfolding might and grace). 

Evolution! — 

Revolution! — 



285 



invite 

to a share in their secular 

toil, makers of man than they 

less cruel; for, zvith vital doctrine Science, 

enamor'd, impregnateth Art, who in joy 

bringeth deathless ideals to the day, 

nobler, more vigorous, lords of a higher 

heaven, earth-transHgurcrs, begetters brave, 

yea, and beautiful bearers of men 

in their likeness, 

after their kind. 



IV. 



But his wonder Comforted gazed I, though tears 
waxeth greater ^^ gratitude dimm'd my sight, 

zvhen the city ' * , . , , , 

changeth to a vast Por the City on a sudden became 
theatre, CI sun-dazding arena 

immense; and her girdle 

of hills zvith their shelving 

streets (huge benches, tier over tier 

for intent spectators,) swept 

amphitheatre-wise about; and the river 

a choric procession, white-vested, 

an altar large 

encircl'd solemn and slow 

with song; but beyond 

and above them, larger, arose 

the altar heroic for human 

oblation of bravery, rectitude, slain 

of their slayers but to triumph 

in Them, 

o'er the wisdom of scarring 

experience, at last, 

as faiths inborn, and instinctive smiles! 



V. 

and forthwith e.x- Bczvildcr'd, I star'd (though passionate 

pandeth to his ^^^^^ continued to blind me,) far 

country— as the , , , 

stage for the final athzvart sky-reaches 

286 



diaphanous, without 

end; the elusive 

horizon receding apace, till man's 

arena of achievement 

outspread to the length, in my view, 

and the breadth of the land 

best-beloved, by a monstrous half-ring 

environ'd, of eternal 

main-lands sea-welded 

together (the shine of vast strands 

zvith shine of zvide zvatcrs blent,) — Europe 

and Africa cast, and to soutlnvard 

America; Australia 

with Asia in the west; — 

the terrestrial amphitheatre's 

round, where the nations throng 

agape, young and old, 

at the spectacle new, the last act 

of hell, — heaven's first: 

the deification of Man! 



display to the 
world of the God 



VI. 

Then close my eyes shut, by the portent 

dismayed, lest the former despair 

had bestozved no miraculous gift 

of far sight prophetic, but mock'd me instead 

with hallucinations: "Too good, 

too beautiful," cried I aloud, 

"for wildest belief I" But gently 

my panic allayed to a calm 

certitude strange of great joy. 

Soft at my Soul's ear Hope 

whisper'd: "Too good, too beautiful 

not to be true, — yea, and soon 

true for Thee, true for Me 

somehow, somewhere, sometime!" 

Though the storm of seership 

still'd, I lingered serene 

on the sheer height awhile of Culture 

287 



The poet, bewil- 
dered and amased, 
dareth not disbe- 
lieve the truth of 
the vision; where- 
fore he declareth 
it to his fellow- 
men, that they may 
decide whether it 
shall be proven 
trtie or false; — for 
in present deeds 
make they the fate 
beautiful or hide- 
ous of all time to 
be. 



Hellenic, at peace with my bliss 

and smiled; for I caught myself unawares 

murmuring (some burden of a hymn 

in sweet dreams heard,) 

"Surely it should be, wherefore 

it shall be, it must be, it is — 

0^ / saw it and see it again, 

and in vision have shown it to thee!" 



a88 



TRANSLATIONS 

FROM 

LEOPARDI AND GOETHE 



LA GINESTRA 

On the arid shoulder here 

of the formidable mount 

Vesuvius, fierce destroyer, 

which else of neither tree is cheered, nor flower, 

Thou scatterest thy solitary shrubs, 

sweet-smelling Broom, 

content with wildernesses. Thee I saw 

with thy sprays gracing also the waste lands 

which girdle the city round 

that once of man was queen, 

and with their staid appearance taciturn 

to the passerby seemed to bear witness 

and make memorial of her empire lost. 

Now once again, lover of sorrowful sites 

forsaken, of broken fortunes, comrade true, 

I view Thee on this soil. These fields 

with ashes unproductive strewn, 

mantled with indurate lava, 

under the wanderer's footsteps resonant, 

where finds the snake his nest 

and writhes in the sun, and where returns 

the rabbit to his wonted hollow lair, — 

blithe rural homes once were, ploughed ground 

golden with wheat ears, loud 

with lowing of herds; 

gardens and palaces 

for the great a refuge pleasurable 

of idle ease; there cities far-famed 

once stood which the fierce mount 

289 



with fiery torrents from his fulminant mouth 

along with their indwellers whelmed. 

One common desolation all enfolds 

where thou, O gracious Flower, dost stand, 

and sendest, as though of others' ruin piteous, 

to heaven incense of most sweet fragrancy 

the waste wild comforting. These scenes let him 

visit whose use 't is to extol 

our lot with praise; let him take note 

for our race how solicitous 

fond Nature is; and the vast might here 

with equitable measure can he mete 

of that humanity, which, with slight stir 

when danger least is feared, 

a heartless foster-mother in part extirpates, 

and with some motion little less light 

is able utterly to annihilate. 

In these realms stand depicted 

of our human generations 

the magniEcent progressive destinies! 

Look hither! here glass thyself, 

arrogant, fatuous Age, 

that didst the path forsake — till then 

by thought reanimate beckoned on — 

and tracing back thy steps 

dost boast of thy retreat 

proclaiming it advance! 

To thy child's play all gifted souls 

whose hostile fate made Thee 

their parent, tribute of worship pay, 

tho' at times, among themselves 

they make of thee their jest. 

Not I shall go down to my grave thus shamed! 

A light task 'twere for me 

after the rest to pattern, and, 

raving in manner set, 

make to thine ear my song acceptable. 

But I choose rather that the full disdain 

which in my heart is pent 

290 



have utterance as open as may be. 

Albeit most well I know 

whoever to his own age proves 

o'ermuch distasteful, soon is quenched 

by dull oblivion! Of which curse 

that I must share with Thee, 

till now have I made merry. 

Thou dreamest of freedom still 

and wouldst at the self-same time 

have Thought be slave again; — 

to which alone 'tis due if we have risen 

partly from savagery, with whose sole aid 

our culture waxes, which conducts alone 

our public fortunes forth 

to better things. Thus did the truth 

displease thee, which the bitter lot 

taught, and the station low 

assigned to us by Nature; for this cause 

basely didst turn thy back 

on the light that made it clear; 

and thou — a runagate — 

callest him base, who doth pursue 

the light; — and only him great-souled 

who, flouting himself, or others, — fool or knave,- 

above the stars our mortal rank exalts! 

A man that's destitute, with limbs 

infirm, — but lofty soul well-born, — 

nor vaunts, nor fancies himself 

in gold rich, o^ robust; 

to opulent living 'mong the throng 

and valorous person, makes 

no farcical pretense; 

but lets, without false shame appear 

his lack of strength and wealth; in open speech 

of them makes mention, and of his state 

with truth accordant shapes his estimate. 

A foolish creature, — not magnanimous, — 

do I deem him, who, born 

to perish and in suffering reared, 

291 



should say "for pleasure was I framed," 

and with offensive arrogance 

fill volumes; loftiest destinies 

and novel felicities — 

whereof not our planet alone 

but the whole heavens know nought, — 

pledging to a Race whom a wave 

of storm-stirred sea, a breath 

of air malignant, a subterranean shock, 

so utterly destroys 

that with great difficulty 

their memory persists. 

A noble nature hath 

who dares to lift against 

the common doom his mortal eye, 

and with frank phrases, — nought from the truth 

deducting — the ills that make our fate 

acknowledges, and our low station frail; 

Who shows himself great, valiant 

in suffering; nor augments 

with fratricidal hates and wraths 

(than other ills more grievous) his distress; 

Nor holds man answerable 

for what he suffers, but assigns 

to her the blame; who is indeed 

guilty: — as to birth Mother, but 

in heart. Step-mother of mankind! 

Her he calls Foe; and, thinking 

(as is most true) human society 

originally in martial order drawn 

Her to oppose, — confederate he esteems 

all men, encircling them with love sincere; 

offering, and looking for returns 

of potent and prompt aid 

in alternate perils, in the pains 

of common warfare. His right hand 

to arm against offending fellow-man, 

to fetter his neighbor, or in his path 

set hindrances, folly he deems: 

as 'twould be in a camp 

292 



besieged by hostile armies, when the assault 

is at the hottest, forgetful of the foe, 

to steirt a bitter feud among one's friends; 

to let the sword flash bare, 

flight-spreading, among one's brothers in arms! 

Thoughts such as these 

when they have grown (as once they were) 

familiar to the masses; when the fear, 

that first in social ties knit men, 

by veritable science is in part 

brought back; then honorable 

and noble citizen-intercourse, 

equity and sweet mercy, another root 

will have obtained than fables insolent, 

founded whereon the popular probity 

is wont to stand erect as safe 

as can aught that hath propped itself up on a lie. 

Ofttimes o'er these ravaged tracts 

which the congealed flood cloaks somberly 

swelling as tho' in billows it would roll, 

I sit me down at night 

and watch the stars, out of the blue 

of purity absolute on high, 

dart on the melancholy heath their fires, 

(which afar off the smooth sea mirroreth) ; 

and all about, o'er the whole heaven, 

the Universe with sparkles scintillate. 

And when my eyes I raise 

to fix those lights that to their view 

show as mere dots, yet are so vast 

that measured by them earth and sea 

are but a dot indeed; to which 

not merely man, but this world-globe 

whereon Man is as naught. 

Is utterly unknown; and when 

I gaze upon those knots of clustering stars 

beyond all measure more remote, 

that unto us as mists appear, by which 

not Man, nor the mere earth, but all — 

293 



(for number infinite and for mass — 
our golden sun included) all the stars 
we see are unsuspected, or appear 
to them, as they to earth: a point 
of nebulous brilliancy; — what then 
seemest thou to my mind, 

Child of man? Remembering, in turn, 
thy state below, well set forth by the soil 

1 tread; how nevertheless 
Thou dost believe thyself 

Lord, and appointed End for all that is! 

How often Thou wast pleased to feign 

upon this obscure grain of sand minute 

called Earth, because of thee 

the Framers of the Universe descended 

frequent converse pleasurable to hold 

with some of thine; — and how, renewing 

such fatuous dreams, insulted are the wise 

even by this present Age 

which seems for knowledge to outtop 

and civil manners all times hitherto — 

what feeling then, unhappy mortal race, 

what thought of Thee at last my heart assails? 

I know not if contempt, or pity 'tis, prevails? 

As from a tree drops a dwarf apple down 

which toward the Autumn's close 

no other power but its own ripeness flings 

to earth; and, in its fall, the precious homes 

of some ant-people, tunneled in soft turf 

at cost of infinite toil, it crushes, unpeoples; 

and the labors, and the ample store 

assiduously collected by that folk, 

with provident strain, prolonged 

throughout the summer season, in one instant 

buries; — so from the thunderous womb 

hurled to the heavens profound 

a night and ruin — compact 

of ashes, cinders, rocks, with seething streams 

dilute — that fell as a leaden hail; — 

294 



Or, a vast flood of boulders, liquefied 

metals, and molten sand 

hissing adown the mountain's grassy flanks, — 

wasted, destroyed, and whelmed 

in a few seconds, the cities which the sea 

bathed on her farther shore; 

and here now over them goats browse, 

while cities new rise on the other side, 

for which the buried make 

foundations firm; and the steep mount 

spurns with its trampling foot the prostrate walls. 

Nature nor venerates, nor hath in care 

Man more than ant; and, if more rare 

be the slaughter of man than ant 

unto no other cause 'tis due 

but that less numerous is man's progeny! 

Full eighteen centuries have sped 

since, by fire's violence oppressed, 

vanished those populous seats; but still 

the humble peasant who his vineyard tends, 

who in these fields with difficulty 

by the dead and cindered soil is fed, — 

lifts a suspicious eye 

up to the fatal peak, which no whit tamed, 

yet sits terrific, threatens yet 

ruin to him, his sons 

and their scant patrimony. Oftentimes 

the wretch upon the roof 

of his rustic cot, the whole night long will lie 

sleepless in the wandering airs; 

and leap up more than once 

the course of the dread seething mass to explore 

that pours adown the sandy back 

forth from the exhaustless hollow gorge, 

with whose reflected glow 

gleams the sea beach of Capri, Naples' port, 

and Mergellina. Should he see it 

draw nigh, or in the depths 

of his own well hear the water gurgle hot — 

295 



his sons he rouses, in all heiste his wife, 

and fleeing with whatever they can snatch 

of their poor property, they watch from afar 

their wonted dwelling, and the little field, 

(their sole defense from famine,) fall a prey 

to the prowling flood inexorable, 

that crackles as it reaches them, and spreads 

stiffening forever over all. 

To the rays of heaven is restored 

after agelong oblivion, dead Pompeii, 

like an interred skeleton 

by piety or greed exhumed; 

and, from the desolate forum, 

standing among the files 

of columns truncated, the traveler 

a long while contemplates 

that Mount with its twin peaks, 

the smoking crest that still 

threatens the scattered ruins. 

And, in the horror of night's secrecy, 

over the vacant amphitheatres 

and toppled temples and the houses wrecked, 

where hides the bat her young, — 

like to a dismal torch 

that circles ominously 

through empty palaces, 

the dazzling glare of the funereal lava 

flies, lurid in the glooms afar, 

and tinges all the landscape round. 

So, ignorant of Man, 

of the stretch of times he ancient deems, 

of the substitution regular 

of child for sire, — Nature alone 

stands still in youth, or moves 

along a road of so great sweep 

that motionless she seems. Meanwhile, 

fall kingdoms, peoples pass, and tongues 

whereof no notes she takes — 

but MAN, dares arrogate — 

the glory, for himself, of endless days! 

296 



And Thou, slow-flowering Broom 

that with thy perfumed sprays 

adornest these marred lands, 

Thou, too, soon must succumb 

to the subterranean fires, 

which visiting once again 

places familiar grown, 

will spread out their consuming skirts 

over thy gentle shrubs: 

and thou wilt bow thine innocent head, 

not vainly stubborn under the load of death; 

yet not ere then, shall it be bent 

in futile supplication cowardly 

unto thy future slayer; neither self -lifted 

with insane pride, unto the stars; 

nor above the waste — where not thy choice, 

but fate decreed thee birth and dwelling place; 

yet, wiser, yea so much less weak, than Man 

in that Thou'st not believed thy feeble kind 

rendered by fate, or thee imperishable! 



NATURE AND ART 

{Natur and Kunst) 
EPILOGUE TO SONNETS 

Nature and Art still shun each other's sight, 
yet mate as fellows, ere one wotteth well. 
My stubborn mood hath long since left me quite; 
so, which most draweth me I scarce may tell. 

There needs must be a strait and true endeavor; 
but, the full dole once paid of life we owe, 
bound mind and will as thralls of Art forever, 
fiercely at heart as erst may Nature glow! 

Like token marketh every high emprise. 
All spirits undisciplined strove in vain to stand 
where heights of pure perfection reach the skies. 
Who great things would, shall hold his soul in hand. 

297 



Only self-mastered may man master be, 
and law fulfilled alone can speak us free! 



BALANCE 

( From the Metamorphose der Thiere ) 



Nevertheless within, the might of the worthier creatures 
findeth itself inclosed in a round of living formation: 
borders no God may enlarge, and which Nature revereth. 
For, thus limited, only was possible ever the perfect. 

May this noble conception of might and restraint, and of 

self-will 
and law, and of freedom and bounds, and of order in motion, 
lack and advantage, — rejoice thee; for hearken, the holy 
Muse doth teach it thee thus with gentle insistence. 
Higher conception no ethical thinker attaineth; 
none the man of affairs, at his craft no fashioning artist. 
Rulers thence, worthy of rule, the pleasure draw of their 

sceptre! 
Highest Creation of Nature, rejoice that thou feelest thee able 
thinking, her loftiest thought to o'ertake, whereto in creating 
She herself upsoared; there plant thee, and thence let thy 

glances 
backward sweep, make proof, and compare, and take from the 

Muse's 
mouth (that thou see, nor be drunken) this full truth, certain 

and gracious! 



A HUMAN FEELING 

( Menschengefuhl ) 

Ah, ye gods, ye mighty gods 
in the wide heaven over us, 
would ye grant us here on earth 
stalwart mind and cheerful heart, 
gladly would we leave to you, 
O ye good, your heaven above! 

298 



EVEN SO 

( Ein Gleiches ) 

Hovereth o'er every height — 

Peace visible. 
And every tree-top — light 

breathings do lull 
of dreamless sleep. 
Birds hush them in the brake. 
Bide thee, thou too ere long shalt take 
thy rest — still, deep. 



THE WAYFARER 

( Der Wanderer) 

Hail, and God bless thee, 

young Mother, and the little One 

the son at thy breast! 

Let me drop at the rock-wall here 

in the elm-tree's shadow 

my burden down, 

and rest me beside thee. 

Young Mother: 

What craft can drive thee 
thro' the heat of the day thus 
up the dusty path hither? 
Bearest wares from the town 
through the country-side? 
Thou smilest, stranger, 
at this my question? 

Wayfarer : 

No wares from town have I brought. 
Cool now grows the evening. 
Bring me to the well-spring 
whereat thou drinkest, 
gracious new-wed wife! 

299 



Young Mother: 

This way, up the rock-path. 
Go before me! It leadeth 
thro' the shrubberies thick 
unto the well-spring 
whereof I drink. 

Wayfarer: 

Tokens of ordering human hands 
betwixt the bushes appear. 
These stones be not of thy building, 
Prodigal-handed Nature! 

Young Mother: 

Up further, and on! 

Wayfarer : 

Lo, covered with moss, an architrave! 

I know thee fashioning Mind 

again — thy seal in th' hewn rock deep-set. 

Young Mother: 

Press onward, stranger! 

Wayfarer: 

Inscriptions whereon I trample — 

alas, illegible! 

Away are ye flown 

Deep-graven words, — 

ye that to thousand generations 

should your master's worship show. 

Young Mother: 

Starest thou, wondering 
at this stone, stranger? 
Farther up about my cot 
full many stones lie. 

Wayfarer: 

Yonder? 

Young Mother: 

Close at thy left, 

up thro' the thick bushes, — 

here ! 

300 



Wayfarer: 

Ye muses and graces! 

Young Mother: 

This is my cottage. 

Wayfarer : 

Ruins of a temple! 

Young Mother: 

Down the slope this way 
upwelleth the spring 
whereof I drink. 

Wayfarer: 

Aglow, still hoverest thou 
over thy grave-mound, 
Genius; albeit on thee 
hath crashed and crumbled 
thy master-work, undying spirit! 

Young Mother: 

Stay, the while I fetch the cup 
that thou m^ayest drink. 

Wayfarer: 

Ivy hath clothed about 

thy godlike structure tall! 

How ye yearn upward 

out of the wreckage, 

ye pillars twain, .... 

and thou, too, lonesome sister, 

how ye together — 

mournful moss on your hallowed heads, — 

in grief majestical look down 

beholding the prostrate pillars 

at your feet broken, — 

your kith and kin! 

Of the tangled bramble bushes shadowed, 

rubbish and earth half hide them; 

and the gaunt grass stalks over them! 

301 



Young Mother: 

How he sleeps, my baby boy! 
Wilt rest thee, stranger, 
in our cottage? 
Or wouldest rather 
here in the open tarry? 
Cool it is. Take thou the boy 
the while I fetch thee water. 
Sleep, my darling, sleep! 

Wayfarer : 

Sweet is thy rest! 

On heavenly seas of health 

afloat, tranquil he breathes! 

Thou, born among the remnants 

of a holy, long-gone past, 

may its spirit breathe on thee! 

For whom it halloweth, he, 

as the gods in self-knowledge, shall thrill 

with a gladness of day after day. 

Unfold, thou swelling bud, 

loveliest gem, adorning 

white-shimmery spring, 

outshine thy fellows: 

then may the full fruit rise 

out of thy bosom 

and ripen to sunward! 

Young Mother: 

God bless him! Still he sleepeth? 

Naught have I more than homely bread 

to offer thee, with the cool spring-water. 
Wayfarer: 

My heartfelt thank. 

How all about doth put forth bloom and leaf! 

What verdure! 
Young Mother: 

Soon from the field 

my husband home 

will come. O, stay friend, stay, 

And share with us the evening meal. 

302 



Wayfarer: 

And here — ye dwell? 

Young Mother: 

Yonder among the toppled walls 

my father lived to build the cottage 

of tiles, and of the ruin's stones. 

Here do we dwell. 

To a husbandman he gave me, and breathed 

his last soon in our arms .... 

Hast slept thy fill, sweetheart? 

How merry, see, and fond of play, 

wee rogue! 

Wayfarer : 

Nature, forever budding, each 

hast fashioned to the joy of life, 

purveying, as mother true, 

to every child a home for heritage. 

High-buildeth the swallow 

under the eaves, unwitting 

what chiselled grace she bedaubs; — 

above the golden bough, her brood's 

winter-abode, the cankerworm 

spinneth; and thou, 'mid ruins august 

of the long-gone past, O man, 

for thy bare needs 

buildest thy patchwork cot; — 

and hast over graves — thy joy! . . . 

Farewell, thou happy wife! 

Young Mother: 

Thou wilt not tarry? 

Wayfarer : 

God keep you twain, 
and bless your boy. 

Young Mother: 

God speed thee. 

Wayfarer : 

Whither o'er yonder hill 
will the path take me? 

303 



Young Mother: 

To Cuma. 
Wayfarer : 

And how far thither? 
Young Mother: 

Three miles or more. 

Wayfarer: 

Farewell, 

Oh, lead my steps 

Nature, — the stranger's 

wayfaring foot 

which o'er the graves 

of a hallowed long-gone age 

wendeth carefree, — 

to a place of safety 

from northwinds sheltered, 

by a poplar-copse 

from the noon-sun screened. — 

And, when homew^ard I turn 

at eventide 

to my hut in the last ray golden — 

may such a wife there bid me welcome, 

Our infant son in her arms! 



CHANT OF THE SPIRITS OVER THE WATERS 

(Geaang der Geister ueber den Wassern) 

The soul of Man 
is like unto water: 
From heaven it falleth, 
to heaven ariseth, 
and thence to earthward 
in endless round 
again returneth! 

When from sheer crag quick-gusheth 
the flashing stream, 
' it breaketh in shimmer 

304 



and glister, and flitteth 
to the smooth sheen rocks 
below; whence softly 
updrawn, as a mist-veil 
forth-fluttereth, its mysteries 
lisping and whispering 
adown the still deep. 

If rough boulders upfling them 

its onrush to stem, 

lo, it frotheth and roareth 

from ledge to ledge weltering 

to the bottomless pit; 

thro' level green valleys 

it dallyeth wistfully — 

and the stars do number 

in wide pools unwrinkled 

their twinkling array. 

The wind is the lusty 
Lover of waters, 
who the foam-crested billows 
upstirreth and mingleth. 

O, Life of Man's soul, 
how like unto water! 
O, Weird of Man's life, 
how like unto wind! 



HUMAN LIMITATIONS 

{Die Grenzen der Menschheit) 

When far-scattereth the Ancient 

of days and most holy 

Allfather freehanded 

from billowing cloud-rack 

the seeds over earth 

of beneficent lightning — 

305 



I kiss me his vesture's 
uttermost border, 
the Httle child's reverent 
fear in my heart. 

For let not the mightiest 
mete him as fellow 
with beings divine. 
Aloft doth man hurl him 
with proud front to smite 
the heavens — and lo, helpless 
his foot findeth nowhere 
safe stead, while the welkin 
and wind with him play. 

Or, with stout thaw astrain, 
if he rear him up, stalwart, 
on the fast-founded earth 
everlasting, — behold, 
tho' haughty of stature, 
shall to-skyward his reach be 
with the gnarled oak's likened, 
or the clambering vine's? 

What sundereth mankind 
from the Gods thus forever? 
Innumerous the waves fare 
on and on following — 
a flow inexhaustible 
before them; while us — 
one surge lifteth and swalloweth, 
that we sink into naught. 

A petty round, close 
engirdleth our life; 
and the frequent generations 
outstretch link in link. 
.the chain never-ending 
of human existence! 



306 



THE DIVINE 

{Das GottUche) 

High-hearted be Man, 
kindly and good, 
seeing thereby only 
preferred is He 
before all beings 
to mortals known. 

Hail the loftier Unknown 
Beings whom in awe 
we forefeel! Let man be 
after their likeness; 
in them his ensample, 
teach trust and belief! 

For, without feeling 
is Nature; on wicked 
and good forth-shineth 
the sun; ay, the mean 
alike and the worthiest 
behold the still beauty 
of moon and of stars. 

Whirlwind and flood 
thunder and hail-storm 
roar on their way, 
and, hurtling past them, 
whelm in destruction 
all in their turn. 

Even so, blind-gropeth 
Luck 'mid the many; 
now catching the curls 
of the guileless youngling, 
and now the bald pate 
of the hoary in guilt. 

307 



Girded of la\%'s 
everduring. adamantine, 
vast. — all. all 
must draw to its close 
their round of existence. 

Man only can bring 
to pass the impossible: — 
'tis he who discerneth. 
who deemetli and dcometh; 
and the vanishing moment 
by his grace may endure. 

To Man only is granted 
boon for the worthy, 
bane for the \vicked; 
he healeth. he saveth; 
the astray and wide-strown 
he atoneth in use. 

And. immortals we worship 
as tho' human they were; 
wrought in the vast, 
what in the narrower room 
the worthiest doeth. 
or fain would do. 

Be the high-hearted man. then 
both kindly and good! 
fashioning unwearied, 
the Useful, the Right: 
in truth so foreshadowing 
3'on beings we divine! 



5oS 



MY GODDESS 

( Meine Collin ) 

To which of the deathless 
shall the highest praise be? 
I contend not with any, 
yet proffer my worship 
to the quick-varying 
ever-young and light-hearted 
wondrous daughter 
of Zeus, his darling 
child — Phantasy! 

For unto her freely 

made he allotment 

of all moods and whimsies, 

else sacredly warded 

for Him alone; 

and greatly he taketh 

delight in the antics 

of his wayward wanton: — 

Whether her listeth 
with crown of red rosebuds 
and white lily-sceptre 
to trip it thro' valleys 
abloom, and queen it 
o'er summery songbirds 
and butterflies, sipping 
the sweet dew, beelike, 
from the heart of the flowers; 

Or whether her listeth, 

with loose locks streaming 

and look melancholy, 

in the winds to fling her 

over beatling crags; 

Or with hues myriad-glinting 

As the morn and the even 

with ever new aspect 

as the smiles of the moon, 

to reveal her to mortals. 

309 



Wherefore, laud and thank 
let us proffer the Ancient 
of Days, high-exalted, 
Father, who so lovely 
never-fading a consort 
hath accorded us, perishing 
Children of men! 

For unto us only 

hath he lovingly plighted her 

with the troth-ring of heaven,- 

and straitly charged her 

in good days and evil 

as true-hearted helpmeet 

never to forsake us. 

The other poor kindreds — 
offspring of the Earth, 
living Mother of lives, — 
roam, raven and feed, 
in the gross joys sordid, 
and the dull brutish anguish 
of the moment's cramped 
mindless ejristence; 
bowed low by the yoke 
of want and of need! 

Howbeit unto us, (O 
Joy!) — he hath granted 
his subtlest, much-fondled 
and daintiest daughter. 
Come, graciously meet her 
as best beloved; 
entreat her to wield 
the sway of our household. 

And beware lest step-dame 
Wisdom, unwittingly 
ruffle her sensitive 
tender child's spirit. 

310 



Albeit, fellowship 
lief, with her elder 
soberer sister 
long have I cherished: 
Oh, may she not leave me 
ere the last ray of life; 
She, to high emprise urger, 
soul-consoler — kind Hope ! 



THE ONE AND THE ALL 

(Eins and Al!e) 
I. SELF-SURRENDER' 

Ay, Self to find in the boundless Vast 
gladly the One were lost at last, 

all chafe and coil dissolved away; 
no heat of lust, wild will grim-set, 
irksome demand, stern duty's threat; 

self — yielded up, .... what ecstasy! 

II. ATONEMENT 

Soul of the world, come thrill us through! 
To wrest from the world-mind the True, 

were chiefest use, then, of our strength. 
Kind spirits beckon and proffer aid; 
to Him v/ho maketh all, and made, — 

the foremost masters lead at length. 

III. CREATION 

To shape again the fashioned shape — 
lest stiff, it rear and ramp agape, — 

is wrought by th' onward Thrust of life. 
What was not, now v/ould com.e to birth 
in clearbright sun, or motley earth, — 

but never to rest from change and strife. 

IV. EVOLUTION 

Stir shall they, and press with fashioning strain, 
the self -framed shape, transform.ed amain; 
but somewhiles seem they stayed and still. 

311 



The Abiding goeth forth in all: 
for the All to utter Nought must fall 
if held to being with stark self-will. 



MY LEGACY 

( Vermachtnisa) 



I. EXISTENCE 

What is — to Nought can nowise fall. 
The Abiding goeth forth in all. 

Thy bliss in being then have and hold; 
for Being abideth ever; and laws 
thy living hoard shall keep, because 

the All decked him therewith of old. 

II. REASON 

Time out of mind, the Truth was found, — 
and the high fellowship of souls close-bound. 

Hold fast the eldest Truth, and thank 
O, child of earth, for wisdom — One 
who bade earth wing her 'round the sun, 

hosting her brethren rank on rank. 

III. CONSCIENCE 

Now straightway to within thee turn. 
That midmost spot wilt thou discern 

no man of worth can dare gainsay. 
Hast lack there of no rule or 'best: 
for love — self-gotten — of the best 

is sun unto thy duty's day. 

IV. UNDERSTANDING 

In th' body's wits put childlike faith; 
they cheat not ever with lie or wraith 

whom the quick mind shall ward from sleep. 
With keen glad eye go mark and learn; 
fare safe, howso thy path may turn, 

thro' a world of wealth far-strown and deep. 

312 



V. PRUDENCE 

In plenty and weal, taste — and forbear, 
be Heed still bidden, and well aware 

when life of life hath cheer and glee; 
so shall the bygone day abide, 
and time forefeel the unborn tide, 

and the brief Now — forever be. 

VI. WISDOM 

And hast thou got thee skill herein 
throughly to feel, and surely ween; 

"What fruiteth well alone is true" — 
behold thou long the common sway — 
what dooms it deemeth on for aye — 

and fellow thee unto the few, 

VII. VOCATION 

And, as of yore alone and still 

some work love-born of their own will 

the men of lore and songcraft 'gat, — 
Thou winnest gift most fair: to fashion 
high souls with thine own thought and passion! 

What call or task shall better that? 



ORACULAR WORDS IN ORPHIC MANNER 

(Urworte, Orphisch) 

AAIMQN: DAMON 
(The Genius, Individuality, Innate Character) 

Yea, as the sun (what day thy life was leant 

the world) did stand each planet's sphere to greet - 

so throv'st thou erst, obedient to thy bent, 
by that same law which hither sped thy feet. 

313 



Such must thou be. None yet his Self outwent. 

This rede sybil and seer of old repeat; 
for, never time nor might could break asunder 
the shape seed-hidden, whose life unfolds its wonder. 

TTXII: DAS ZUFALLIGE 
(Luck, Environment) 

Yet Somev/hat doth with gracious tread outgo 

the straitest bound, and with and round us move. 

Not lonely long; with fellows dost thou grow, 
as oth'r well do, doth thee to do behoove. 

Now for and now against thee falls the throw! 
Thy life a game whose chances thou must prove. 

The years, unnoted, have their ring united, 

and now, the lamp doth lack the flame to light it. 

EPQS : LIEBE 
( Passion, Love ) 

Not long it tarrieth. From heaven He flings 
whereto He soar'd out of the primal Void. 

Lo, hither he hovereth, on airy wings 

in springtide about brow and breast light-buoyed, 

feigning to flee, with subtle home-flutterings. 

Then weal is woe — panic with sv/eetness cloyed. 

Some hearts waste in the many their emotion; 

the noblest to one only vow'th devotion. 

ANAFKH: NOTHIGUNG 
( Necessity, Fate ) 

'Tis then once more — even as the stars deem just: 
condition and law and the will of all — be will . . 

for that alone in sooth we ought and must! 

Each wilful wish before that Will hushed still; 

what most we prize from the heart's core we thrust; 
mood, will and whim the hard "thou shalt" fulfil. 

So fare we, yet, in seeming freedom, yearly 

more close beset than erst and hemmed more nearly. 



314 



EAIIIS: HOFFNUNG 
{Hope, Aspirations) 

But from such metes and bounds, such walls of brass 
the stubborn gates unbolt them and unbar, 

tho' ancient as the hills their rocklike mass. 
A Spirit light-flitteth, untrammelled; lo, we are 

from cloud-rack, reek and rain upcaught, and pass 
breathless with her, given wings of her, afar. 

Ye know Her well. No realm her revel may banish. 

One wing-beat — and the worlds behind us vanish! 



315 



ST. FRANCIS OF THE TREES 

>VRITTEN FOR THE ANNUAL DINNER OF THE 

STEVENSON FELLOWSHIP OF SAN FRANCISCO 

NOVEMBER 13, 1906 

The waste of manhigh weeds — leafless and harsh — 

outstretcheth dismally — a purple gloom — 

into the marsh, whose inlets gleam and lure 

the eye, over its ruddy reaches to the bay's 

vague shimmery shine — and th' mist-bloomed farther 

shore: — 
when lo, with yellow fire at the grey core 
enkindled, the haze, quick, hath burst aflame; 
and golden glamour over sky and land 
doth make what seemeth be, — what is — but seem. 
Bronzed marshes, flooded inlets, lurid field 
bewilder with an aspect ominous, 
and the soul, unreasoning, hushed and awed, doth bow 
before the enthralling mystery, and still 
doth the heart stand a moment for a dread 
unfeatured. 

Ah, you do remember, friend, 
that breathless panic, the misgivings strange 
and bodings, which there rooted us awhile, 
until the oaks were wading ere we knew 
in fog knee-deep, to be submerged ere long — 
floating at intervals over the twilight flood 
the vanishing undulant outlines of their tops; 
while here and there the blue-gums, fain to flee 
the stealthy tide of sleep, yet rooted fast, 
as in a dream, essay in vain to fling 
their free forms loose! 

Alas, alas, dear friend, 
how soon — too soon, — the dire fulfillment came 
of those premonitory fears: when rocked the earth 

317 



as insubstantial, and the tall palms bowed 
hither and thither to the ground; — when walls 
tottered and crashed, and th' heart leaped in affright, 
and th' roar smote deaf and dumb the helpless soul, 
and only the spirit dared believe and live! 

But afterward ensued three days, and nights 
more hideous, of anguishful dismay: — 
the city, — yea, our city — ours, even ours — 
the proud, luxurious, extravagant, fancy-free, 
She on her sandhills betwixt ocean and bay 
upbuilded — She ... to us, upon the hitherside 
safe, lay under a dense pall of reek; and high 
to the very zenith, the ever-voluminous 
ever-toppling, ever-steadfast cone of smoke 
o'erflowed — and trailed a banner of horror grey 
to southward beyond sight; whereunder, O, — 
what wicked glints of yellow — bloodthirsty eyes 
piercing the jungle-gloom, — whence flushes of shame 
and anger over heaven. And for three nights 
those awful splendors, crimson gushes, and leaps 
and flares of riotous light, and glows auroral; 
the while between, as in a trance, the bay 
floated a magic mirror of loveliness 
unreal, before the helpless throngs spellbound 
along the waterside forever at gaze — 
on the long fierce sunset of our city! 

At last 
with a sudden start we awoke (had it been hours 
or aeons?) to the tense activities 
of nerve and heart: — relief for the shelterless, 
the hungry, the bewildered, the unclean; 
until the heart did sicken, and the soul 
fainted within the living body of death. 
We hurried hither and thither, as the ant swarms; — 
ate, slept, wrought miracles, brake foolish jests — 
and all the while aware, the spirit, flown far, 
had left but animate automata, — 
nor ever again, it seemed, should we behold 

318 



the stars in ancient wise blazon once more 
the heavenly mind — the life with them beyond 
things petty done and known. 

But suddenly 
befell — of sense no outer happening; 
nay, an interior change. As from the trance 
before, so from the nightmare now my soul 
started; and I cried to thee: — "Enough, enough! 
Come forth, friend, for a breath of the upper air, 
for a calm view of land and sea. Awhile 
let us this hateful desolation leave, 
the enormous wreckage, th' choking dust and grime, 
the swarming human foulness. Up together, 
up to the mountain-top oracular 
and neighbor to the stillness of the heaven. 
For, lieth not the dreaming giant Bride 
stretched on her bier eternal? and around — 
what shrouded mourners gather them to-day? 
And over her doth bend a dream, methinks, — 
m.oon-silvered spaces of quiet? And at her feet, 
moon-silvered likewise, see the ocean falleth 
adreaming, the selfsame hallov/ed dream of peace! 
Up, up Mount Tamalpais! Coth she not lie, 
the wraith of our stricken city, on the bier 
uplifted, shriven, for heaven to pity and bless? 
Up, let us climb; slie is not dead — but sleepeth; 
then let us, brother, v/hisper as she dreams 
words in her ear of comfort, loyal love 
and faith undying. Up to the mountain, friend, 
with me." 

So spake I not? But you, incredulous, 
eyed me and marveled. You — would not, nor could; 
for yet the pall was lifted not from you. 
Ay, you waxed scornful: — "Go, friend. As for me 
I cannot leave the smoking ruins, to seek 
the m.ountain-top of vision. Rather you 
inquire of the Lord for us! Perchance He hath 
a word to speak who hindered not this horror; — 

319 



maybe He is still alive — the living God. . . . 
It wras an accident! But you have seen, 
have suffered, — and you believe yet, — you believe! 
Ha, go then you unto the mountain whence 
Cometh our help — the abundant help we had! 
And if you hear there some true word — to us 
bring it back faithfully, — us in th' grime and lime — 
us sons of chaos! Tell us what you saw 
thence of the wider, saner, sager view — 
what 'in the Mount' you heard! Farewell." 

And I 
intently looked at you! For I was 'ware 
how, notwithstanding my denials hot, 
your blasphemy proceeded — out of my heart. 
So, speechless with the ache of things unsaid, 
I turned — and fared upon my pilgrimage 
unto the Mountain of the dreaming Bride; 
and, knowing whither, recked not of the way, — 
my heart with thee, — my fellow, friend, and brother,- 
but of my spirit irresistibly borne on. 



Ah, blessed night, thou veilest mercifully 

marshes alike and wooded valleys warm — 

and the slumber-heaving waters of the bay. 

The hills behind the daughter cities stand 

scarce visible against the sky; and over 

the stricken Mother herself the winding-sheet, 

woven of gentle dusks and argentine 

twilights! How sparkling — yea, and proudly glad — 

hath not forthspread our Mother's wide domain, 

seen from the threefold swelling height, copse-hooded, 

of Grizzly, or from the sombre summit viewed, 

above the old-rose foothills mottled black 

with oaks — from Kawakoom, the Mount of Doom; 

or else surveyed from betwixt ocean and bay 

on either peak of the twain that overtop 

the many-towered city of hill and vale. 

320 



"What site for to set up her throne foursquare, — 

Pride of the Far West, — She, the shining eye 

of the Republic, to the Orient turned 

with restless eager quest, unworshipful, 

daring and challenging th' unknown across 

the sundering seas; — yea, the whole vibrating 

Occident of do and dare, insolently 

aflash in the defiant sweep of the glance. Ah, true, 

this, this the chiefest wealth, — thy glory of site 

and light, can no man take from thee! And meted 

therewith, O City, of what worth be all 

thy incalculable losses? Who shall thee 

bereave (tho' many of thy children mourn 

their dead) of thy prenatal memories? 

The alien tongue, still far-off echoing 

musically? the dreamful sweetness — vague 

hauntings of anthem, and of incense? yea, 

and more, how far more precious still thy Name? 

tho' th' irony thereof do oftenest 

smite thy well-wisher: — Thy sponsor, father in God, — 

the little poor man of Assisi — Saint 

that loved his brethren tenderly — the flowers, 

the shrubs and trees, — his little brothers, too, 

beasts of the field, and fishes of the brook, 

birds of the bough and of the open sky! 

These things thou hast, thy site, thy memories 

prenatal, the ideal of thy name; 

these things, maybe not cherished as they ought 

of thee, O City, be thine inalienable 

birthright; not lost, — yea, thine, — perchance more thine 

than ever hitherto. And surely He, 

the holy Francis, will not he of all, — 

(though thine own children nourished at thy breast 

deny thee, disbelieving,) He, not now, 

whatever thy sin and shame, will thee forsake, — 

the humble, simple, wistful, tender and meek, 

who spake with radiant joy — as a little child — 

of brotherly love, sang praise of Poverty 

321 



wooed for the freedom's sake of the spirit of man 
unto more fragrancy of holiness — 
and more transfiguring beauty of soul! 

"Nay, rather 
methinks that he will visit thee, even thee, 
courageous in affliction, resolute 
in the hour of perished hope — O lavish still, 
O confident of thy destiny! And perchance 
He Cometh even now. And, humbled so, 
thou wilt at length receive him, and ask of Him 
that he may teach thee how in very deed 
thou mightest be great and noble, magnificent 
and gracious! Enter, O City, and possess 
thy hallowed heritage, and in thy wealth 
new-gct, thy pride of sumptuous power, as thou 
rebuildest thee, never forget to prize 
thy chiefer wealth of loveliness and charm . . , 
nor thy new glow of gratitude, abashed 
for the world's thought of thee in thy distress, 
which draweth thee nearer to the heart of love, 
O City of the Bride upon the Mount, 
dressing the East beyond this golden West; — 
O City of the gentle godly man, 
still bidding thee most seek thy goodliest worth 
of heart and spirit!" 

Thinking thoughts like these 
confusedly, I clomb, nor knew fatigue, 
no sense of body weighing, of the very mood 
of blessed meditation lifted up 
as a wisp of mist that riseth on a breath 
unfslt of warmer air. And lo, recalled 
to the sight of the eye and the hearing of the ear: 
there lay the Mother City below me spread — 
her daughters three across the slumbering bay — 
atwinkle, atwinkle in gladness obstinate; — 
reaches of sky reflected magically — 
mirage of heaven upon the mirroring land — 
and more exceeding bright than starry space 

322 



of the wintery moonless vault — atwinkle, atwinkle, 

vivid, insistent — mirthful! And the moon 

cast her bewilderment of silvery haze 

over all things beside those constellations 

of earthly homes instinct with radiant life. 

Then, was my mood such, tho' I wist not why, 

I should not shrink, nor marvel — if the Mount 

were in the hallowed hush, with spirits alive 

about me. Did not Blake, singer and seer, 

graver and painter, with his dreams — awake 

hold converse? Here assuredly might one — 

yea, such as I — be visited and behold 

yearnings unknown and wisdoms of mankind 

forthbodied in symbolic images: 

Heroes and Gods that walked the earth of old, 

bulls winged, and desert lions sunny-maned, 

and fiery Seraphim! Ah, s'jrely here 

might one dare meet the great of heart, the good, — 

Osiris — Baldur — Krishna — Socrates — 

Isaish— Sakyamuni — Laotze — : 

Plato and Bante, Shakespeare, Sophocles — 

Chaucer — and Homer? Whom might one not meet, 

and dare to walk with them, and, unabashed, 

talk with them, ay — tho' face to face alone? 



Then was I 'ware there stood behind me one, 
and the mystery of the unseen did sweetly send 
shudders all over. Yet I turned me not, 
lest the human music to the ear of the soul 
should faint away into the silences 
of God. But gently on my shoulder touched, 
the thrill went through me more deliriously. 
And as I turned in marvel, and breathless hope 
of rapturous surprise — my eyes met his! 
And, no whit startled did I hear myself — 
as not myself — speak witless words to him: — 
"Most holy Francis, art thou here at last? 
I knew thou couldst not tarry long — nor ever 
forget thy city." 

323 



— "Nay, son, — sayest thou 
forget my city? Never; — Yet is she 
builded not on the earth." 

And wrath did choke, 
tho* reverence speech restrained: "Thou wouldst disown 
the lost, the humbled, the destroyed? Not well 
doest thou, holy man!" 

"Never, son, never. 
Her would I not disown had she been mine. 
She hath my name received; — but hath she aught 
more than the name of me, that I might call 
her mine in truth, thou being witness, son? 
If I should lift my voice up in her streets, 
her wharves, her marts, her palaces, would She 
thence answer to my calling, 'I am thine'?" 



And my wrath died straightway to shame. I cried, 

"Have mercy, holy man, upon us!" And he 

calmly envisaged me, unearthly-still, 

deep-probing with unquivering lids — wherefore 

a wrath did seize me and throttle, (of the mind — 

not of the heart rebellious) : — "Thou, meseems 

askest of Her what cannot be, nor should! 

Shall — speak — a city of living men, a city 

of women, a city of children, be as thou? 

as thou? — and meditate in the wilds with thee 

in starved idleness — until all hands, 

all feet, all sides, as thine of old did, gape 

with bleeding impress of insensate griefs — 

wounds of imagination insanely rapt 

in the accidents of a tragic symbol? Nay, 

thou askest too much, God wot, O holy man! 

And if my mind betray me not, not meek 

art thou! Meek, verily? Arrogant rather 

for worths impossible, preposterous hopes, 

ideals inhuman, unearthly, devilish! 

accusing man of evil, — yea, and God 

who made him such, and judged him very good, 

foreknowing the end of childish innocence, 

324 



the lusts of the natural life, — the world's command 

to strive, and cry, — to slay and eat and live! — 

to prey, to ravage; voluptuously taste 

the foaming cup, for passionate ecstasy, 

whence the new life, the holiness of home, 

the fashionings imaginative of things 

to bodily use, and spiritual; — yea, the very 

ardors of godliness and communings 

in mystic rapture! Wherefore darest thou, 

for thy tense passion of delights perverse 

in anguish, bid that all men come to thee 

and follow, doing likewise? If thou be 

verily he that loved the natural life 

(and men have fabled not a saner myth 

than was in truth thy very self!) — if thou 

didst love the impulsive, unconstrained free life 

of bird, of beast, of fish, of flower, shrub, tree, — 

why ban, — outcast — the instinctive life of man? 

The flesh, anhungered? the longings, pieties 

of the innocent beast in him? quest, omen, vaunt 

of power, of beauty, of knowledge? Speak, O speak! 

Speak, holy man of God! If just thou be, 

ask not of this, the city of thy name, 

things thou well knowest impossible!' 

And he 
replied with smile translunary that shamed 
in its indulgence sweet: "Son, son, perchance 
thou errest knowing not me. I lived as thou 
now livest. Was not I child of my day 
as thou of thine? To each generation, son, 
its names of God belong, its services 
of sense, the strengths human-divine: its faiths 
of spirit, hopes of heart, its disciplines, 
devotions! Wherefore, should I of this city say 
'I know her not' — it were for cause; — that She 
to her own holiest vision is blind, and deaf 
to her own words of the Lord, spoken for her 
of Him, in this her day of life, and His 
Who ever liveth!" 

325 



"Father, forgive that I 
knew thee so ill," came from m.y second self 
the humble answer, after the brain awhile 
throbbing beat out in rhythm fantastical 
a silence of dismay. "The word God spake 
to thee, thou didst obey, even as thereof 
thy understanding gave thee interpretation; and thou 
wast faithful found. What deemest thou His v/ord 
and fiat unto the city of thy name! 

Forgive the wrong my thought hath done thee, and speak, 
that I may go hence knowing the truth; and I 
swear to utter it in thy name!" . . . 

"And thine?" 
"And live it — body and soul?" he seemed to ask 
ironically; yet his lips did move not, and his eyes 
looked far beyond all visible things. And awe 
forbade more urgent questioning. For then 
meseemed the mightj^ Mountain under us 
breathed where we stood, — the pillow of the Bride, 
wavering responsive to her heaving breast, 
and with her dream-life pulsating. Athrill 
with novel stirrings of the abysmal self, 
I felt me drawn, and swallowed mj'stically, 
into her dream, — as tho' within me dreamed, — 
and close was I therein enfolded, when lo! 
mists rose upbillowing, — soundless, soft, swift, — 
and from the fluctuant mists there issued trees, 
ghostly, yet seeming-real, that glided near, 
and the steep circled, and, with their boughs awave, 
sang with the voice of a wind unfelt: — 

"We come, 
O holy man, to thee. For thee we know, 
tho' men may know thee not. V/e come to thee. 
Thou calledst us thy brethren, and we dare 
call thee our brother; and, we pray thee, choose 
freely of us the better — he that truth 
and right and beauty is alone — for her, 
the city of thy name. Hear thou, and judge! 

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Discern the evil within us, and the good; 
and as thy choice, even so shall be our will, — 
we whom thou callest brethren equally, 
who love thee all alike." 

And the holy man 
smiled on them, — and his face lit up with love 
and gentle pity and joy; as tho' the trees 
brought solace above human fellowship, 
and wafted skyey bloom and redolence 
of the far Apennines, — of communings 
solitary, — he alone, yet not alone, 
for One was with him; and — the trees and shrubs, 
the flowers, the beasts of the field that stealthily 
neighbored him, all the finny folk of the brook 
that leaped from crystalline cool to hear his word; 
and th 'birds of the air that hovered over him 
in warbling skyfuls of beatitude! 

"Speak, Brother Leo!" And wistfully he smiled, 
correcting him: — "My Brother Live-oak, speak!" 
And the tree bowed him, reverent, and spoke: — 
"Behold me, holy man, for what I am, — 
rugged and sturdy, stalwart, valorous, — 
my wood of grain close-fibred, knotty, hard; 
I root down in the depth, and reach forth free 
to North, to South, to East, to West. My trunk 
overleans, see, and my branches, tortuous, leap 
to grapple the elusive air. And no strong wind 
strippeth my solemn leafage. If my shadow 
shall sombre seem or sullen: — what I have 
that do I hold; for mine is mine, thine, thine — 
if thou canst hold it thus, as mine I hold! 
So understand I the stern law of right. 
Shall I not be the emblem chosen of thee 
for the city of thy name?" 

And the Live-oak bowed 
before the holy man and yielded room 
to the Cypress. "Holy man, as the oak am I, 

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my brother; tho' less dark-browed frowneth he 

than I. For I do hold mine own as he; 

but more, do wave off with forbidding arms 

the stranger. Am I not of the ancient stock 

indigenous, fiercely myself? and staid and staunch 

in my fierce self-hood? Wherefore not? Shall they 

possess who builded not, and reap who sowed 

in other furrows the seed of former hope? 

Yet unto him who doth my will divine, 

am not I tame and gentle, obedient 

to his least wish and fantasy; — who build 

a wall of dusk — about his garden of ease, 

and bid the intruder avaunt? The outcast eye 

can pierce no privacy I fend. The winds 

blustering can pass me not. Nor may the sun 

himself coerce me to surrender the shadow 

of night, the cool of the morning and the dew 

unwillingly! Wilt thou not then accord 

to me the right to be thy city's tree?" 

And when the Cypress bowed him, forward moved 

the gay Acacia. "I am graceful of growth 

and fragile. Yet if the March wind shall tear 

my branches loose, I fling in his face new life; 

yea, flaunt all over the golden blossom-balls 

fragrant, bee-haunted, raining gold-dust down 

in the lap of the greening earth; yea, see my bloom, 

plentiful, unsuspicious of evil days, 

tossed into the golden sunbeams gladsomely 

of those first days after the winter rains, 

when the sky is blue, the air pellucid, fresh! 

Shall sunny hours be gloomy for that storms 

have come and gone, — will come again and go? 

Nay, glut thee radiantly with all good things 

and beautiful the while the sun is lord. 

Am I not, holy man, the only tree 

of the happy and lavish, the city of thy name?" 

And the holy man did smile: — "Gold — gold! Take all, 
thy gold and buy thee — purer gold therewith, 

328 



whereof thief cannot reave thee — evermore." 
Yet from his lips no word fell — and who it was 
spake in his stead I wot not. But straightway 
the Pepper bowed, and plead his better right: — 
"Thou dost behold me, holy man, with love! 
For delicate the showers of rain about me, — 
of fringing green; as emerald hill on hill, 
astride and elbowing one another, thrown 
carelessly forth out of the gnarly trunk, — 
and for thy gaze held forth of twisting boughs. 
Pale are my blossoms, inconspicuous — 
in clusters sociable; but mark my pungent 
berries, a-dangle in russet plenty. Am I 
aught else but languorous grace, of strength begot 
and valor? Ever fresh verdure light 
delicately abundant, with subtle odorousness 
that no beast croppeth me careless; — without thorn 
defended of my savor of self, who am 'I', — 
yea, even 'I' only ever! Wilt not thou, 
in thy wise gentleness, award to me 
the honor of thy choice?" 

And it was so 
ere th' Pepper bowed him, eager as a child 
overmuch fondled, the Madrone brake forth 
in wayward winsome speech: "Nay, Father, hear. 
My claim thou wilt not waive — for I am he 
that speaketh with the eldest eloquence 
persuasive — the sweet language of the flesh, 
which God made chaste and clean — for pure delight ;- 
whereover his hand passed lovingly with pride 
of fatherhood. The flesh — the delicate flesh, 
responsive to the vibrant world of things; 
clothing new spirit from age to age, for thought 
and novel adventure! See my foliage shields, 
shining as tho' sunshine abode in them 
bodily. See the ruddy bark of me 
in th' gloss of the noon-heat upcurled, to lisp 
and whisper secrets of the passionate heart! 
See, from th' rough mantle of mine ancient trunk 

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escapeth — bare voluptuously breasts 
and side — frank rosy flesh of the awakened maid, 
the dryad of wanton illusive loveliness 
who flitteth forth — ah, whither? Canst thou say — 
to follow? Yet another dryad soon 
abideth in mottled shine and green-gold shade, 
thriddeth the self-same path thro' the greenwood on- 
glinting — and vanished, ere thou wottest well 
she is she, and not thyself! O innocence 
of human flesh — O glory of glad delight! 
God's way of life whereover the spirits pass 
from brutal hate unto His loving-kindness! 
Am not I of the pleasure-loving folk, 
true Tree, — the emblem of the city's joy? 
And shalt thou not prefer me unto Oak 
that liveth hard to get and hold; to Cypress 
that yieldeth kindness unto one, to irk 
with a harsh righteousness another; — nay, 
unto the Acacia, that is foolish-glad 
of lucky and lightsome fates extravagant; — 
unto the Pepper also, that doth green 
gracefully for the sole sake of graciousness, — 
but hath no deep unsearchable well of joy, 
as I, — the flesh, whence every gcodliness 
of body and soul and spirit?" 

And th' holy man 
looked long methinks upon the bold Madrone 
with pitying eye. "Ay, she loved much," one said, 
"because so many were her sins forgiven; 
and what she did she knew not — therefore all 
shall be forgiven her — whatso she hath done!" 
And slowly he turned his head away as tho' 
to hide a tear. And, shamed, and marvelling much, 
the glad Madrone, no longer confident, 
withdrew her (wonderful the mystery 
of godliness!), and she abode in wistful fear 
the judgment. 

330 



Whereupon the Blue-gum spake: — 
"Not, holy man, indigenous am I. 
From the far Austral world of barren heat 
hither I came, and the Southern Cross did shine 
in the still nights of my prenatal sky. 
But here, see, am not I as all thy folk 
of the great city? — lawless, vagabond, 
my leafage hung in freakish tufts, in ragged 
delicate festoons, in dense loose-jumbled 
masses; or I toss them forth, at will, see, see, 
frondlike, in air, to scatter to the wind 
as fettered birds that flutter in vain to flee, 
brought ever to a sweet captivity home? 
Behold my splotchy blossoms, my haphazard 
clusters of aromatic fruit, together 
on the same tree, — at the same season, abide — 
each bough his leisure and mood! And my trunk, see, — 
the bark protective torn, dishevelled and shed 
in long loose strands; — while under, grey or green, 
as best shall like me! But evermore around 
one only scent, mine ov/n — wholesome? mordant? 
So of our Kind each one unto himself 
liveth, his precedent free and wilful law. 
No straightening type shall hold of kith and kin: 
himself! — himself triumphantly! Yet see, 
how, when they list, my kindred range arow, 
and charge in ranks unbroken the hillside steep, 
and pierce the skyline, and unfurl aloft 
the banner of a common victory! 
Yet ever individual, confident, true 
to his life only; — yet so livingly 
alive, we dare the death, and cry aloud, 
'Slay us who will!' For, if thou hew and fell 
and slay, do I forthwith uprise not, yea, 
and mock thee with quick growth from the sawn roots? 
Am not I, holy man, for good and ill 
the emblem tree for the city of thy name?" 

And all the trees were glad of the insolent joy 
of his own selfhood; and yet uneasily 

331 



swayed betwixt hope the Blue-gum should be chosen, 

and natural fear that any be preferred 

before himself. But the last of the seven trees 

was speechless till the holy man made sign 

the Redwood should his cause plead. Then, he spake: 

"111, holy man, beseemeth me to praise 
myself. Yet what I am, I am; by grace 
nowise of mine own will. And for His praise 
who wrought me as he would, behold, I dare 
display me, worshipfully with my worth 
his worth extolling. From an ancient age 
of th' earth survivor, chosen of life to live, 
and carry down some word of the former world 
unto the world that knoweth it not; behold, 
I tower, vast of girth, dizzy of upright height. 
The forests olden of oak and of madrone 
be as wavy wild grass at my feet. Full often 
under my branches stealeth the salt sea-fog, 
and, over his billowy flood, converse I hold 
unbroken, with the constellations of night 
primeval. Yet bulk no glory were, to grasp; 
for the woodwardias, tiger-lilies, and pale 
campanulas, fairer than I, by the creek do nestle 
my roots among; whereas aloft I fray 
in lacelike traceries of fadeless green. 
And if thou for mine age no reverence know, 
and hew and fell me (for, flesh of my flesh, 
bone of my bone, the city of thy name — 
that is no more — was builded out of me, 
dead for her sake), yet rise I from the dead; 
but not in the selfsame room where erst I stood 
from the grey dusks before the dawn of time; 
nor single, solitary, shall I rise again. 
Thou knowest for me of old was it decreed, 
ere were the hills thus rounded of the rains, 
that from the extreme edges of the reach 
should from my roots upspring, a mystic round, 
and wax to majesty the red-barked sons 
of me that was. And lo, no more alone 

332 



we, shall draw down the hot noon-sun to dwell 

in a green-golden halo, in our midst. 

The gnats go looping spirally in flight 

their sheeny myriads thro' the quiet, held 

sacred within our circuit. Gossamer threads 

wave loose there, or net over from bough to bough, 

in wind-still shimmer. But if thou at night 

stand, of our outer awe inwalled, alone — 

then shall we be to thee, who prayest there, 

a dial of eternity; the stars 

looking in one by one, and for a space 

abiding, to pass on. Then shalt thou rede 

the blessed law of the singleness that dieth 

for the more holy round of manyhood, 

to thrive, and speechless say by what we be: — 

Mighty in uprightness, in delicate strength 

gracious; who die not ever in our death, 

but sociably a temple do uprear 

with free sky overdomed — a holy ring 

of a new life columnar — to ensphere 

symbols of the invisible, and hold 

in hush the speech, and in celestial time 

th' eternities of the Unknown we know." 

Then smiled the holy man a loving smile, 

and dwelt upon the Redwood fondly and long — 

till Oak, Cypress, Acacia, Pepper, Madrone, 

Blue-gum, and Redwood chaunted together: — "Choose, 

oh, choose which one of us shall be the Tree 

for emblem of the city of thy name; 

and as thy choice even so shall be our will, 

we whom thou calledst brethren equally, 

who love thee all alike. Oh, choose, — oh, choose!" 

And I looked then from the seven trees away 
unto the holy man. And I beheld 
how he did slow withdraw once more his eyes 
from vision of things unseen; and fixed his gaze 
that saw, yet saw not, upon each in turn 

333 



tenderly; then wide opened he his mouth 
and spake, spreading his arms abroad: — 

"My brothers, 
together so to live in unity 
is it not blesscder, as ye have proved, 
better and blesseder — far blesseder 
than to be chosen, tho' chosen of God, — alone?" 
And lo, he faded slowly into mist, 
the holy man; and in the fading light 
of the westering moon, the trees did follow him, 
their brother, and fade after him. But I, 
startled, awoke and cried, "Ere thou dost quite 
vanish, speak, Father, speak, — which tree!" And I 
knew not his inmost mind, for never word 
spake he in vanishing. Only meseems 
his smile had longest dwelt and fondliest 
on the generous giant tree of the ages gone; 
on the tree that gave himself gladly for Her, 
the city that was; on the tree that riseth again 
for the City that yet shall be; — that she learn 
of him — the primitive worship of the truth 
in nature, the feminine delicacy and grace — 
nay, lightness rather fairylike, of Him, 
the mightiest that upright stand, and rise 
in holy rings enshrining utter peace, 
and golden sun and stars, — and quivering dark 
of the unseen. 

And soon, when all were passed 
into the unbeheld, from the ocean a snow-soft 
ghostly white fog uprose, and overpoured 
slowly the mountain's flank, and flooded in 
thro' the Golden Gate, and covered all the bay 
with a relucent sea of stillness. Stars 
did pale to points invisible one by one; 
and a note now and then, quick, tentative, 
in the brush chirruped. And the eastward masses, 
voluminous, infinite, of phantom hills 
and cloud, with hands of spirit uplift 

334 



slow — slowly high, the holy heavenly host 
of the sun eternal, for worship of the world; 
Golden effulgence spiritual amidst 
the rosy flush of ever new life and love! 



335 



JAN 17 \901 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




